


Second Chance

by Nyrandrea



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Whump, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Abuse, Young Arthur Morgan, Young Dutch van der Linde, Young Hosea Matthews
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-03-07 23:46:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18883750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyrandrea/pseuds/Nyrandrea
Summary: Struggling to raise Arthur, a quiet and feral boy that Dutch and Hosea had only saved a month ago from the streets, a new threat presents itself in the form of the boy's past coming to catch up with him, once and for all.





	1. Chapter 1

“Alright, now just relax your shoulders, take a deep breath and…”

The doe that was idly grazing near a riverbed snapped her head up at the sound of a sudden whistle, her shrill cry cut short as an arrow penetrated through her throat, killing her instantly.

“Great job, son. Real good.” An older man praised as he got up from his position in the bushes, he ushered his younger companion to do the same.

“…Really?” The teenage boy nervously asked, slowly coming out from his hiding place as he lowered the bow, his hands trembling slightly.

“Yeah, I’d say so.” The man knelt next to the fresh carcass and looked it over before pulling out the bloody arrow, “A nice clean kill, didn’t suffer. Didn’t damage the pelt much neither.” He said as he cleaned the point of the weapon in the nearby river, ready to use for another day.

“That sound it made was awful, Hosea.” The boy said as he trailed behind, his voice dropping to a mere whisper.

Both seemed to pause for a moment.

“I know.” Hosea acknowledged, before he stood up and gently laid his hand on the younger’s shoulder, “But you get used to it.”

He could feel the boy’s flinch under his hand but said nothing of it, he knew there was still a long way to go yet.

“Now c’mon, we should get this back to camp. Tell Dutch what a fine hunter you’ve become, eh?”

There was only silence as a response but Hosea’s attempt at lightening the mood didn’t go completely unappreciated as the teenager’s lips curled into a small sheepish smile while he helped load the deer onto the back of one of the horses.

Hosea couldn’t help but smile back. Progress was still progress.

“Do you want to try for another or head back now?” He asked as they both mounted their horses.

Hosea had figured that one of the best ways to get him to trust them was to give him as much freedom of choice as possible, to make him know that his opinions and choices mattered as much as theirs.

“N-no.” The boy stuttered as he gave a slight look of guilt towards the dead deer stowed on the back of Hosea’s horse, “I’d rather head back…if…if it’s ok with you, that is,” He added quickly.

“Of course, son. It’s been a long day for both of us.”

Hosea noticed that as the boy kept his head down, there was a quick flash of fear in his eyes, almost as if he was anticipating something much worse than the response he had gotten. The older man couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of sympathy. He couldn’t have imagined the things this poor child must have went through to end up so skittish.

“You did really well today, Arthur.”

At the sound of his name, he looked up with a little surprise. But his eyes seemed to brighten at the praise as he muttered a small thank you.

They both urged their horses onto the trail back home, Hosea keeping a small eye on Arthur as they rode. He kept quiet; his expression was neutral but there was still a wild, almost feral look in his eyes as he scanned the open country for any potential threats.

Hosea noticed it was incredibly akin to the look of raw fear in the doe’s eyes before she was killed.

He sighed quietly to himself as he focused on the road ahead. Today was going to be a long one.

* * *

After an hour-long trek, they finally made it back to camp. It was a small but cosy clearing tucked away from the main trail, hidden by the surrounding thicket and trees. There wasn’t much to it, just a small campfire surrounded by three tents. But it was all they ever needed.

As their horses slowed to a trot, Hosea brightened up at the sight of a dark-haired man sitting in front of the largest tent, eagerly focused on a book. His elegant clothing and clean-shaven face would have suggested that he was anything but a grizzled outlaw.

Hosea chuckled to himself as he recalled the many times his friend had managed to trick rich civilised folk into thinking he was one of them, mingling at fancy garden parties and such before he took their prized possessions from right under their snobby noses.

“Let me guess,” Hosea started as he and Arthur dismounted. “Evelyn Miller?”

A deep chuckle resonated from the younger man as he glanced up at them with a grin, “Of course.”

“You’ve been reading a lot of his books lately.” Hosea fed his horse a small apple before hauling the deer over his shoulder, his bones ached slightly at the sudden weight. Felt like his age was finally starting to catch up with him.

“This man, Hosea, he’s…” There was a pause as he seemed to ponder what to say, as if trying to find the right words to describe just how downright wonderful the author was. Hosea beat him to it though.

“A poet of the American dream? The saviour of our free and wonderful country?”

“Very funny.”

Hosea chuckled as his partner in crime glared daggers at him while putting away the book. His expression softened though when he saw Arthur a little ways back, stroking his horse gently while murmuring soft words to her.

“Hello, son.”

This caught Arthur slightly off-guard as his eyes widened slightly at the sudden greeting. Although he quickly composed himself, his panic didn’t go unnoticed by both men.

“Mr. Van der linde.” The young boy quietly greeted as he kept his head low, avoiding eye contact.

“I already told you, you call me Dutch.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“None of that ‘sir’ nonsense either.”

Hosea narrowed his eyes slightly at the curt response while Arthur anxiously averted his gaze back to his horse .The older man knew that the past couple of weeks had been tough on both of them as they had absolutely no clue how to raise a boy, never mind one that was as emotionally damaged as Arthur, and he could see the stress of it starting to take its toll on Dutch.

Regardless, they had made slow but good progress so far, and the last thing they needed was to go back to square one again.

Dutch caught Hosea’s glare and nervously cleared his throat, catching Arthur’s attention again.

“Y’know, son… I think you would appreciate Mr. Miller’s words.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at this, “…I would?” His tone was cautious, but there was an underlying curiosity, which Dutch eagerly latched onto immediately.

“Of course!” He gestured for Arthur to come over while he pulled out another small wooden chair to sit beside his own, “C’mon, we’ve got a bit of time now. It’s been a while since your last reading session anyway, let’s see how much you’ve improved.”

Arthur looked less eager but complied anyway, taking a seat next to Dutch while he pulled out several books from his stash, “Now, the great thing about Miller’s philosophy is- “

Hosea smiled as he decided to leave them to it, dragging the deer away to butcher for tonight’s meal. He knew that Dutch’s ideals and convoluted speeches about what America should be would go right over Arthur’s head, but the boy appeared to be slightly more at ease.

Little by little, he and Dutch had been slowly chipping away at the many barriers Arthur had put up between himself and…well, anyone. He was completely alone and half feral when they had found him, after he had both the boldness and recklessness of robbing from another outlaw.

Poor boy would have been beaten to death if they hadn’t stepped in, though he didn’t show much thanks as not a moment later he started swiping at them with a knife.

 _‘Hard to believe that was only a month ago now.’_ Hosea idly thought as he started skinning the carcass, glancing over once or twice to see how they were doing.

Dutch seemed to have gone into one of his ‘inspirational talks’ again while poor Arthur looked so perplexed, like he had just seen a fish sprout wings and fly.

Hosea smiled warmly at the sight. He was relieved that he had put on some weight as well, though he was still small and frail, looking nothing like a fourteen-year-old should. He still needed a steady supply of decent meals.

With that in mind, Hosea started chopping into the meat with new determination.

* * *

“Try it again. C’mon, I _know_ you can get it.”

Dutch had always believed in helping those in need, save them as need saving, feed them as need feeding. America was a land of give and take; take from those who had too much and give to those who had too little.

But this…this was something even beyond his capabilities.

“Men are…fix…fixa…” Arthur’s nose scrunched up as he struggled to sound out the word with his tongue.

“Fixated.”

“-fixated on…greed, on d-desi…desire, and on the…” He stopped and narrowed his eyes at the book before looking up at Dutch with a questionable frown, not even bothering to attempt the next word. The older man sighed and took the book from Arthur’s grasp, deciding to read the rest of the passage for him.

“Men are fixated on greed, on desire, and on the acquisition not of experiences or pleasures but on the ability to acquire. People are fixated on wealth. Man is reduced to the desire for desire. Wanting is all that matters. Not loving, not being, not having, but wanting.”

Dutch decided to stop there and looked at Arthur to see his reaction to Miller’s words. When all he got was a blank stare, it took everything in his power not to roll his eyes. He was seriously hoping that this was something the two of them could bond over, like Hosea had done with him over tracking and hunting.

But alas, it wasn’t meant to be.

“Son, you really are gonna have to learn how to read.” Dutch tried to ignore Arthur’s flinch as he put the books away and started to rustle through his tent for a pen and piece of paper.

“And write, for that matter. Words can be a hell of a lot more useful than guns or knives in some situations. Now where did I put that pen…?”

“…Why?”

Arthur’s voice sounded so small and weak that Dutch had to stop what he was doing to look at the boy.

“Like I said, words are-“

“Not that.” Arthur cut him off, though he immediately looked like he regretted it, like he had somehow stepped out of line.

“Sorry, sir.” He meekly apologised, his arms wrapped loosely around his torso, as if to protect it from something.

“No, it’s ok. You’re alright.” Dutch quickly interjected with a calm and gentle tone as he sat back down next to Arthur. Remembering Hosea’s advice, he made sure he was slow and open with his movements, as not to spook him into silence again.

He felt more like he was taming a wild animal than talking to a boy, but nevertheless this was a chance to get an actual conversation from him for the first time since they had found him. He wasn’t going to waste the opportunity presented to him.

“Go on,” He encouraged softly, “Why what?”

Arthur glanced down for a moment, and Dutch was almost afraid that the subject was going to be dropped there and then.

“Why do you call me son?”

Dutch blinked in surprise at the question. It certainly wasn’t the one he had been expecting.

“You and Hosea.” Arthur continued; his gaze went back up to Dutch. There was something in his eyes that the older man couldn’t quite pinpoint. It wasn’t the usual doe eyed wariness or untamed terror, this was…different, somehow.

“You both call me son…even though I ain’t. You’ve both treated me…with kindness.” Arthur paused and chewed the inside of his cheek, looking like he was deep in thought as to what to say next. Dutch waited calmly for him to finish; he didn’t dare to interrupt him now.

“But I know you’re both outlaws. Y-you don’t… you don’t just take some kid off the street and feed him and…try to teach him to read and hunt…outta the kindess of your heart. Decent folk don’t even spare a glance…so…so…”

“So why did we?” Dutch finished for him.

Arthur’s newfound strength to talk disappeared as quickly as it had come, and he silently nodded in response.

 _‘What do you want with me?’_ Seemed to be the real question at play here, and it was a perplexing one.

Dutch and Hosea had always tried to give to the poor when they could, sharing their stolen riches to various orphanages or homeless people whenever they had enough to give out. It justified their ways.

Most of the time.

But even they had been caught off-guard when it had come to Arthur, a scrawny street urchin who had been beaten half to death after an ill-timed pickpocketing. Like he had said, most folk wouldn’t have spared a glance, in fact they probably would have been glad to see him dead. One less thief on the streets to worry about.

They had no choice but to take him in.

And Dutch saw untapped potential in the child. Once he put on some more weight and learned to fully trust them, he could be shaped into a fine outlaw, sharing their ideals of a better, free lifestyle.

 _‘One step at a time, old boy.’_ Dutch reminded himself, he couldn’t afford to get too carried away just yet. Besides, who was to say that Arthur would even want to stay with them for much longer? They couldn’t force him to run with them.

Arthur tilted his head slightly, waiting for an answer.

“Well, ask yourself this.” Dutch started, “Do you think we’re decent folk? Me and Hosea.”

He was prepared for the obvious answer of 'no' and readied himself to give Arthur a lecture that not all outlaws are bad men, only certain ones. Like Colm and his bunch of empty-minded pawns.

“Yes.”

This completely caught him off guard.

“Really? You think we’re decent?” Dutch asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

“You both saved me. That makes you good, right?”

Dutch, seeing an opportunity, decided to challenge this. He wanted to see how far Arthur’s morals went.

“We’ve also robbed and killed plenty of folk too.”

“So have I.” Arthur suddenly looked conflicted, “But only ‘cause I had to. Does…does that make me bad?”

This child kept on surprising him. He knew Arthur had been a thief but…killing people? He had kept that under the radar pretty well.

 _‘Suppose he must have had his reasons.’_ Dutch thought, this world they lived was beautiful enough, but it could also be downright cruel. Especially to children.

“N-no, son. ‘Course not.” Dutch wanted to lay a supporting hand onto the boy’s shoulder, to reassure him. But Arthur had often shrivelled away from any kind of physical contact, showing that he wasn’t a huge enthusiast for it. Though he sometimes let Hosea do it, if only for a few moments.

He held back, deciding instead to use his words to comfort him.

“You’re a survivor. You did what you had to for survival.”

Arthur didn’t look particularly comforted at all, only letting out a small hum to acknowledge that he had heard.

_‘Damn it. He’s closing up again.’_

“What about your family?” Dutch tried, “Your parents still alive?”

“W-what?”

“Your parents.”

Arthur’s eyes quickly shifted from Dutch to the ground, that familiar wild and panicked glint was back as he desperately tried to think of what to say.

“Dead. They’re… they’re dead.” He finally answered.

“Oh…well, I’m sorry.” Was all Dutch could muster up to say as he shifted in his seat.

He wasn’t sure on what to do. Should he pat the boy on the shoulder and console him? Embrace him and tell him everything was going to be alright and that he wasn’t alone anymore? That he and Hosea would be there for him now?

Hosea would know what to say in this situation. Where on earth _was_ he?

“My momma died when I was young and my daddy…well…”

Dutch watched as Arthur swallowed a lump in his throat and fidgeted slightly, the two of them looked just as uncomfortable as each other.

“The law caught up with him. Probably got the noose, I guess.”

“You didn’t see him die?” Dutch prodded.

“No, I got away before he got arrested.”

So, the father was the reason why the young teenager was so skittish and reserved around them all the time. That and the fact that he was on the streets for so long in a society that detested children like him couldn’t have done him any more favours.

Dutch cursed Hosea there and then as the older man suddenly waltzed into view to announce that supper was ready.

He wanted to know more and get through to Arthur, prove to him that he had a second chance now. That he didn’t have to be so afraid of everything.

But it was obvious that Arthur was starving as his mouth started to salivate at the mention of food.

Answers and inspiring talks would have to come later.

“C’mon, let’s get some food in ya.” Dutch conceded as he stood up, “Before you start thinking about eating us or the horses.” He tried to joke to lighten the mood, though he only got dry looks from both Arthur and Hosea.

He could never win with these two.

* * *

 

After the trio had their quiet meal together, Arthur retreated back to his small, makeshift tent. He was laid on his stomach, focusing intently on the nearby grazing horses before sketching them out on a scrap piece of paper. Dutch and Hosea kept a small eye on him from the campfire as they idly smoked, enjoying the moment of peace and quiet while they still had it.

“Seems to like drawing, doesn’t he?” Dutch commented. Hosea could hear the slight edge in his tone.

“Yeah. Caught him trying with a stick in the dirt, so I gave him a spare pen and some bits of newspaper we had lying around.” Hosea paused for a moment before adding, “We should buy him some proper gear, like a journal or something.”

“Maybe.”

They both dropped the conversation there, slipping back into silence.

Hosea noticed the way Dutch was fidgeting nervously with his cigar as he watched Arthur, the older man could immediately tell he wanted to say something, get it off his chest. Dutch liked to pretend he was the strong, stoic one of the duo but Hosea had always known better.

“You gonna smoke that cigar or twiddle it?” He amusedly said, but Dutch caught onto the concerned undertone in his voice.

“Are we doing the right thing, Hosea?”

“How do you mean?” He tried to feign ignorance, but he knew exactly what Dutch meant.

“That boy. He’s…he’s troubled.”

“You would be too, if you were in his position.”

“I know. I _know._ But-“

“We saved his life.” Hosea gently interrupted, putting a hand on Dutch’s shoulder. “We did the right thing.”

“He told me his parents are dead.” Dutch said, taking a long draw from his cigar.

“Did he now?” Hosea prodded, quite surprised at the fact that Arthur had even disclosed that kind of personal information to Dutch. He had been much more nervous around him than Hosea, so this was a good sign that he was starting to really trust both of them.

“Yeah. He didn’t say much but the way he spoke about his pa…” Dutch frowned slightly, “Didn’t seem too fond of him.”

Hosea hummed at that, letting the information sink in for a moment, “It would explain why he’s so skittish.”

“I suppose.”

Once again, they both fell into an uncomfortable silence. Hosea watched Arthur as he shifted his concentration from the horses to a few colourful flowers that were growing near his tent, sketching them out with rough lines. His eyes no longer held any traces of untamed fear, he looked so much more…content.

Maybe with enough practice, he could become one of those big-shot artists who sold paintings for thousands of dollars. He wouldn’t have to become a gunslinging outlaw like them, he could live a care-free and safer life.

“You don’t think he should stay with us?” Dutch asked, like he somehow managed to read his thoughts. It almost unnerved Hosea sometimes how well they really knew each other.

 “Am I that obvious?”

“Just a little bit.”

The older man snorted slightly in amusement.

“I don’t know. I just think…maybe we should give the boy a chance at leading a less dangerous life.” He admitted.

“You mean a civilised life.” Dutch retorted, taking another draw.

“Well…what do you think?” Hosea asked, though he already knew the type of answer he was going to get.

“I think…” He paused and looked over at Arthur, his eyes narrowed in thought, “I think…hold on.”

Hosea could practically see the gears grinding away in Dutch’s head as he bent down and reached into his rucksack, pulling out an aged map of the local area. He could already tell he wasn’t going to like whatever plan was being conducted right now.

“There’s a stagecoach running through here tomorrow afternoon,” Dutch said as he pointed at a road, there was an almost giddy tone in his voice, “Supposed to be transporting some wealthy couple to the next town over, bags are gonna be filled with cash, valuables, you name it.”

Other than the fact that this seemed fishy as all hell, there was one other thing that was worrying him.

“What does this have to with-“ Hosea started, but Dutch beat him to it.

“I think we should take Arthur with us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, Dutch has got a plan, that can't be good. 
> 
> Let me know what y'all think so far! Any feedback is greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

“Absolutely not.”

“Aw, c’mon Hosea,” Dutch said in an exasperated tone, “I know it’s still early days, but he _has_ been with us for a month now. We need to see what he can do.”

“Look, Dutch…you’re a good friend, I’d say even my best friend but…” The older man pinched the bridge of his nose as he shook his head in utter disbelief, “Out of all the idiotic ‘plans’ you’ve ever conducted, this one has to be the most stupid.”

“Well, thank you for your lack of faith.” The younger man bitterly said as he went back to smoking his cigar.

“It’s not lack of faith, it’s…” Hosea paused and sighed as he tried to find the best way to word it without disrespecting Dutch any further.

“He’s just a boy. A boy who’s been through God knows what and the last thing he needs is to rob a goddamn stagecoach!” He didn’t mean to raise his voice, in fear of Arthur overhearing, but Dutch’s sheer arrogance was really starting to grate on his nerves.

“Look, Hosea-“

“What if he gets shot, hm? Or stabbed or…or caught by the law? You want that? He’s finally starting to trust us, and you want to put a noose around his neck?”

“Of course not!” Now it was Dutch’s turn to raise his voice, as he gave Hosea an offended glare, “It won’t come to that, because _we_ will be there.”

Hosea snorted in bemusement, “You say that as if it’s a good thing.”

The younger man raised his hands, as if in defeat, “I know we’re not invincible but…we may as well be. We’ve avoided death so far.”

“Dumb luck.” Hosea bluntly replied.

“Maybe that’s all we need.” Dutch retorted, just as curt.

They both took a moment to reflect in silence. Hosea stared into the dying embers of what remained of the campfire while Dutch sat back and puffed out plumes of heavy smoke, lazily watching them get whisked away by the gentle chill of the night breeze.

“I just think…” Hosea started, “…It’s too soon.”

“I hear you, brother. But I think it’s the perfect time. Think about it, he’s been with us a month now, if he wants to stay then…” Dutch trailed off, casting a nervous glance at Hosea as the older man narrowed his eyes.

“No, go on,” He challenged, “If he wants to stay, then…what?”

“Well, he’ll have to start pulling his own weight, won’t he?”

“Oh, like you do?”

“…The Hell is that supposed to mean?” There was a small growl in Dutch’s voice as he leaned forward, almost threateningly.

But Hosea was never fazed by his attempts at intimidation, he knew they would never resort to violence against each other.

“I didn’t see you bring in that deer carcass tonight, or any other night for that matter.” Hosea nonchalantly said as he smoked.

“Hey, c’mon now, that ain’t fair.” Dutch tried to argue, “I-“

“It was Arthur who fed us tonight,” He continued, “I’d say he’s pulling his weight just fine.”

That seemed to shut Dutch up, instead opting to slowly run a hand through his dark hair in frustration.

“…Ok, I’m sorry. After all the boy’s been through, I shouldn’t have said that.” The younger man finally admitted.

Hosea kept quiet; he knew there was a “but” coming.

“But… I think this would be a great opportunity for him. You remember the first time we robbed a stagecoach together?”

“I remember us running like a couple of headless chickens getting shot at when your revolver stopped working and I ran out of ammo.” Hosea replied with a chuckle.

“Yeah, it wasn’t our finest moment, was it?” There was a hint of a sly grin on Dutch’s lips, “You were running faster than the damn horses!”

They both barked out in laughter at the memory, it hadn’t been their most graceful robbery, but they just about managed to get away with it. The riches had been well worth the trouble anyway.

“But c’mon… you remember that adrenaline rush we got? The excitement and pride of it all?” Dutch continued, still trying to appeal the idea to Hosea.

“Yeah, I do.” The older man admitted; he knew Dutch was trying to butter him up with the old days. Nostalgia had always been one of his weakest points.

“Just think, if Arthur gets to feel that confidence boost, maybe he’ll finally come out of that shell of his and start to get on with his life for good.”

“And what kind of life would that be, Mr. van der Linde?” Hosea jokingly asked, though there was a hint of seriousness in his voice.

“A life of freedom, Mr. Matthews.” Dutch replied with all the charisma he could manage, “A life of freedom.”

 _‘This man always did have a way with words.’_ Hosea thought with a gentle sigh.

“Look, I’m still not sure-“

“What are you talking about?” A new voice piped up from behind, startling them both.

“Good God, Arthur!” Hosea exclaimed, clutching his chest, “Jesus, you nearly gave us a heart attack.”

“Speak for yourself, old man.” Dutch joked, though he looked just as rattled.

“I-I’m sorry.” The young boy quietly apologised before backing away, “I’m sorry, I won’t bother you, sir.”

His eyes were as wide as saucers as he circled around them and backed up towards his tent, all the while watching them like an alarmed animal. Hosea instantly felt guilty for raising his voice, he should have known better.

“Hey, no it’s ok.” Dutch quickly said, stepping in to fix the situation, “We ain’t mad at you, son. C’mere…” He extended his arm and ushered the boy over, using soft words to coax him.

As arrogant and pig-headed as Dutch could be, Hosea had been noticing a much kinder side to him open up since Arthur had joined them. It was slow and at times, incredibly stilted, just like the teen’s progress had been, but it was still there.

Hosea sat in proud silence as Dutch managed to bring Arthur over to sit with them. He took off his jacket and spread it out over a nearby log, before going back to his own seat.

“Sorry it ain’t much,” He apologised, “The jacket’ll keep the damp off ya, at least.”

“…Thank you,” Arthur looked down at the padded seat before looking back up at them, as if he were silently asking for permission.

“Go on.” Hosea encouraged while Dutch gestured for him to sit.

As Arthur slowly sat down, Dutch reached down and grabbed a cigarette to offer him, but Hosea quickly grabbed his arm and shook his head, the younger man rolled his eyes but complied, putting it back down.

“So,” Dutch awkwardly started, “You were wanting to know what we were talking about?”

Arthur nodded, keeping his gaze down.

“You ever robbed a stagecoach before, son?”

This seemed to get the teen’s attention as he suddenly perked up at the question.

“N-no, but my old man robbed ‘em.” Arthur said, his tone almost melancholic.

Dutch and Hosea glanced at each other nervously, unsure how to really respond. The last thing they wanted was to upset him any further.

“And what did you make of that?” Hosea cautiously asked.

He only got a shrug of the shoulders in response. Both men knew they weren’t going to get anything more on the subject matter.

“Well,” Dutch started, swiftly moving the conversation on, “Hosea and I are going to rob one tomorrow, gonna have all kinds of valuables on it.”

“Ok.” Was all Arthur responded.

Hosea could see the subtle look of disappointment on the boy’s face, but he was glad that Dutch had listened and respected his decision. It was far too soon for Arthur to be robbing stagecoaches, they needed to feed him up, get him strong and fully earn his trust. Then maybe…

“We want you to come with us, Arthur.”

…Or Dutch could just completely undermine him and involve the poor boy in whatever hair-brained scheme he had concocted up.

“Really? You’ll let me?” Arthur’s voice was laced with excitement, there was a clear break in the emotional barrier he had put up as his lips eagerly twitched up. This was the happiest both men had ever seen him.

 _‘But at what cost?’_ Hosea nervously thought.

“Of course!” Dutch happily announced, either completely oblivious or ignorant to Hosea’s concern. Probably the latter.

“Won’t we, Hosea?” The younger man nudged him expectantly, he couldn’t help but grimace slightly.

He couldn’t bring himself to outright say “no” though, not with Arthur giving him that cautiously hopeful look. After his earlier outburst, he didn’t want to deter the child any more than he already had.

So, he tried a different approach.

“Only if you’re absolutely sure about it,” Hosea said, trying to put him off, “It’s gonna be a pretty dangerous job.”

“But we’ll be there to help you, son. Every step of the way.” Dutch interjected, much to Hosea’s annoyance.

“I’m sure,” Arthur eagerly replied with a nod, “I-I want to.”

There wasn’t much more Hosea could do to persuade him otherwise, not without upsetting him. Looking between Arthur’s newfound optimism and Dutch’s signature aggressive charm, he was backed into a corner.

“Fine.” He admitted in defeat.

Arthur looked like he couldn’t contain his excitement anymore, like a kid who’d found a whole stash of candy, but he still tried to stay reserved about it.

“Thanks. I won’t let you down, promise.”

Hosea could only weakly smile in response, while Dutch clapped a hand onto Arthur’s shoulder with a hearty chuckle, startling the boy for a moment. But he didn’t shrink away from the contact.

“I’ll fill you in with details in the morning, so go get some rest now, go on.” Dutch said as he waved Arthur off, the young teen nodding and muttering a quiet “goodnight” to them both as he walked back to his tent, a ghost of a smile on his face.

“Thank you, Hosea.” Dutch said with an appreciative smile, “You won’t regret this.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will.” The elder bitterly retorted as he retired to his tent for the evening, leaving Dutch alone at the campfire.

“You’re getting senile at your old age,” Dutch commented after him while he took one last puff of his cigar, “It’s all according to plan, you’ll see.”

He threw the butt of the cigar into the dying embers of the fire, before leaving for his own tent. Leaving the camp quiet and peaceful once more.

* * *

“So…I’m just gonna point the gun at the driver…get the man and lady out…and then steal their stuff and run?” Arthur asked, completely perplexed.

“You’ll get back on your horse and then go. Don’t…don’t run on foot, whatever you do, please.” Hosea replied, an obvious nervousness in his voice.

“What if my horse runs away?”

“Then we’ll come down and pick you up,” Dutch intervened, “We can’t afford to be out in the open for too long, quite a few riders come through this way.”

The three of them were crouched in the bushes of a thicket covered hill that overlooked the empty fields and the road that the stagecoach was scheduled to run through. Hosea and Dutch had supplied Arthur with the necessary tools to pull off the heist; a revolver, a bandana and a rucksack to store the goods in.

“Now, you remember how to use that gun, Arthur?” Hosea asked, earning a dry look from the teen.

“Yes, I remember.”

“Because I know you’ve only used it once or twice. You’re comfortable enough with it?”

“Oh, stop fussing, Hosea. He’ll be fine.” Dutch nonchalantly said.

“Where did you say you heard about this coach?” Hosea asked with a sceptical raised brow.

“Overheard it from some drunk fools at a saloon, complaining about their rich relatives that are comin’ to visit.” The younger man replied, keeping his attention on the road below.

“…Huh.” Was all Hosea could say to those vague details, still not completely sure about the whole thing.

“Stop yer worryin’, it’ll be fine,” Dutch reassured, “Like I said, we won’t let anything happen to him, you have my word.”

“Well-“

“I’ll be ok.” Arthur interrupted, a new confidence in his voice, “I’ll do good.”

“Arthur…” Hosea started, “You know you don’t have to prove anything to us.”

“No,” The boy replied quietly, his expression sombre, “I do.”

This even caught Dutch off guard, who was about to say something before the thundering of distant hooves forced them to quiet down and keep out of sight. All eyes were on the coach that was slowly trundling down the road below.

It was now or never.

Both older men glanced at each other before Dutch took the initiative and took Arthur by the shoulder, quietly guiding him to the horses.

“Now listen, you just do exactly what we told you, and we’ll all walk out of this rich. Just get in there, get the goods, and get out. We’ll be watching from you from here and if anyone gives you trouble, we’ll get you out of there, ok?” He said, helping Arthur up onto the horse, who nodded in response.

“And son?”

“…Yeah?”

“Whatever happens, we’re proud of you,” Dutch said, giving Arthur a small reassuring pat on the knee, “Just know that.”

There was a look of genuine surprise on the boy’s face, along with a hint of happiness and…fear? Dutch couldn’t really tell.

Arthur only meekly nodded in return as he pulled up his bandana and spurred his horse down the hill, picking up speed to meet the coach as it passed by.

“This better work,” Hosea said as Dutch crouched back down next to him, “For his sake and yours.”

“It _will_ work, just trust me.” He replied, trying to ignore the threatening undertone.

They quieted down as Arthur caught up to the stagecoach and slowed it down, scaring the driver as he pulled out the gun on him. Poor guy probably wasn’t expecting a lone, scrawny fourteen-year-old to be so bold as to rob a wealthy coach during the day.

They both watched with bated breath as the driver held up his hands and hopped down from the seat as Arthur dismounted his horse and barked orders at the man, who shakily nodded and moved slowly to the side of the coach before opening the door.

Just like Dutch predicted, it was a couple that were inside, an elderly man and woman sporting fancy clothes and jewellery, far more than what they needed. Arthur gestured with his gun for them to gather their belongings and get out, which they did without question.

For his first stagecoach robbery, Dutch was impressed. Things were going incredibly smoothly.

The woman looked as though she was trying to talk the boy down though, no doubt using soft words and promises that they wouldn’t get the law involved if he let them be. Dutch swelled up with pride when the teen didn’t listen, telling her again to give him everything they had.

“See? What’d I tell you?” Dutch gloated to Hosea, who only spared him a bitter side-glance, “All according to- “

A gunshot cut him short, grabbing both of their attention.

Arthur looked just as shocked, as did the couple and their driver, so it hadn’t come from there.

“Look, over there!” Hosea pointed into the distance, towards the where the road lead into the mountains. Three riders were making a beeline straight for the stagecoach, one had his smoking gun raised.

Dutch and Hosea could instantly tell that they were Colm’s men.

“Shit…! They must have known about the-“

“Who cares!” Hosea exclaimed, already running for his horse, “We’ve got to get that boy outta there, _now_!”

Dutch didn’t need to be told twice as he practically threw himself onto his horse before spurring it as hard as he could.

“Arthur! Get down!” He shouted as he and Hosea pulled out their own guns and started shooting at the attackers, who scowled as soon as they saw the two older men. Most likely they were hoping to just get in, shoot the kid and steal the loot without a fight.

Arthur’s wide eyes were glued to the bandits as they got closer, the thundering of hooves surrounded him on all sides, but he didn’t raise his gun to defend himself or heed Dutch’s advice to find cover.

He was frozen on the spot.

“Arthur, you have _got_ to move!” Hosea shouted as he continued to shoot, managing to hit one of the men in the head, sending him tumbling to the ground. His horse shrieked in fear as it barely managed to avoid the bullets that whizzed back at him.

 The driver of the coach managed to cut free one of the Shires that was attached to the coach before getting the elderly couple onto it’s back and sped off to the safety of the next town over, which meant the law would probably be coming soon enough.

Arthur had still barely moved an inch.

“Goddamnit, get on this horse you _stupid_ boy!” Dutch angrily barked as he finally reached the stagecoach, still shooting at the incoming O’Driscolls.

“He’s scared stiff, Dutch.” Hosea informed him as he quickly dismounted and ran over to Arthur, gently taking him by the shoulders and giving him a shake to bring the boy out of his paralyzed state.

“Well, I don’t think the O’Driscolls are gonna particularly care about that, do you?” Dutch retorted, “Now get him on and let’s get goin’ before we all end up dead!”

Hosea knew it would take far too long to lift the boy up and get him on the horse and keep him balanced _while_ escaping from their shooters. Looking into Arthur’s crazed eyes, he also knew there was no way to coax him out of it either. That would take precious time that they simply did not have.

So, with no other option, Hosea raised his hand and slapped him across the face.

It seemed to instantly work as Arthur jolted out of his paralyzed state and put a hand to his now reddened cheek, his wide eyes staring up at Hosea.

The poor sight made him sick to the stomach. That slow-building trust was shattered in an instant.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. You’re alright…” The older man tried to reassure as he pulled Arthur towards him and quickly led them both to his horse, practically having to drag him, “We have to get out of here though, we’re not safe. Come one, up you go.”

He tried to stay calm as he helped a still dazed Arthur up onto his horse, though it didn’t help matters that Dutch was hollering at them to hurry up, but he still managed to provide cover-fire for them in the meantime.

“Ok, good boy,” Hosea praised as Arthur finally managed to get up, “Now let’s get going-“

A sudden pain flared up in his shoulder, causing him to cry out and fall over mid-mount from the horse, spooking the animal into rearing and throwing Arthur off before galloping away back up the hill.

There was a multitude of noise in that moment, the crack of the gun firing, the shriek of the horse, Dutch’s concerned shouts and Arthur’s pained grunt as he hit the ground.

It all quieted down though as the two remaining O’Driscoll riders thundered in, one of them quickly dismounting to grab the loot bag that had been left on the ground.

“Didn’t know you old bastards were picking up runts now.” The man sneered as he threw the rucksack over his shoulder, “What is he, twelve?”

Dutch tried his best to contain the urge to shoot these men dead right there and then, especially as one of them still had his gun trained on Hosea and Arthur.

“You…got what you came for…” Hosea rasped as he tried to sit up while clutching his bleeding shoulder, luckily the bullet seemed to have gone clean through.

“Useless l’il thing, ain’t ya? Can’t even fire a gun or nothin’.” The O’Driscoll ignored Hosea as he waltzed up to the young teenager, who was still on the ground, seemingly frozen up again, “Let’s see that pretty little face of yours, boy.”

“Don’t touch him.” Dutch warned as he aimed his gun but was quickly silenced by the other thug as he threatened to fire.

The man used the barrel of his gun to lift Arthur’s chin. Although it was still covered in the bandana, the fear was still evident in his widened eyes and shallow breaths.

“Aw, what beautiful eyes you got there.” He said in a silky smooth voice, “Now let’s see the rest of it.”

“Dave, we…we ain’t got time for this.” The other O’Driscoll said in an uncomfortable tone as he shifted in his saddle, “The law’ll be on us soon.”

“I’m just havin’ a bit of fun, come on now…”

Hosea felt powerless as the man slowly rubbed the back of his hand over Arthur’s covered cheekbone, the boy trembling under his touch as the hand moved to the back of his neck to untie the bandana.

“There we g-agh!” A bullet fired into the O’Driscoll’s neck, causing him to collapse and clutch at it tightly as red quickly seeped through his fingers. He let out a horrible gurgling noise as he slowly choked on his own blood before going completely still.

Arthur stared at him blankly as he lowered the smoking gun.

“You little shit!” His friend screamed furiously as he aimed at the boy. Luckily, Dutch was quicker to draw as he put a bullet in the other man’s head before he even had a chance to pull the trigger.

Everything went quiet, save for the echo of the gunshot and the panicked snorts of Dutch’s horse and the remaining Shire that was still tethered to the coach.

“Oh God, Hosea!” Dutch quickly dismounted and ran over to the older man, kneeling beside him, “Shit, are you ok?”

“As well as I can be, considering I got shot,” Hosea weakly joked, earning a dry look, “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just a flesh wound, the bullet went right through.” He tried to reassure, but Dutch was having none of it.

“We need to get you to a doctor.”

“No way, the law will be on high alert, especially with this mess,” Hosea argued, gesturing to the dead bodies, “We’ll go back to camp, stitch me up there.”

The younger man opened his mouth to retort but couldn’t, he knew he was right.

“Don’t worry, I’ll live. Now come on, help me up.”

Dutch carefully took Hosea’s arm and wrapped around his shoulders, helping him to his feet.

“Untie that other horse there, boy _. Now.”_ Dutch growled at Arthur, who was quietly watching the whole affair.

Startled, the teen cast his gaze downward and obeyed without a word, cutting free the slightly spooked Shire.

“Don’t put the blame on him,” Hosea whispered, sensing Dutch’s anger, “What happened wasn’t his fault.”

He didn’t get an answer as Arthur brought the animal over, still unable to meet either men’s eyes. After a few moments of struggling, Hosea finally managed to get onto the big brute, and gestured for Arthur to climb on the back.

But before he could, Dutch held out an arm, stopping him.

“Dutch…” Hosea warned, glaring down at him. He was willing to go to the ends of the earth for this moron but if he dared to lay a hand on that boy, he was honestly going to pummel him from the horse, injured shoulder or not.

Instead, the younger man merely held out his hand and quietly demanded, “Give me the gun.”

Again, Arthur slowly and quietly obeyed, handing the gun over to Dutch without making any form of eye contact, who quickly snatched it away.

“Now let’s get goin’.” Was all Dutch managed to say before mounting up.

Hosea offered a hand to Arthur, who merely looked at it with those wild eyes of his, as if expecting to get slapped again.

Knowing that the trust had been well and truly broken, Hosea simply pulled his hand back while Arthur climbed onto the back of the horse. The boy even refusing to hold onto the elder’s waist, making the ride back quite bumpy for him.

 _‘Well, that couldn’t have gone any worse.’_ Hosea bitterly thought as he clenched his teeth to bear through the searing pain in his shoulder.

He had no idea what fresh Hell the rest of the day would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Hosea got shot, Poor Arthur's scared and Poor Dutch's plan went down the toilet. Couldn't get much worse, could it? :3c
> 
> Let me know what y'all think of the story so far!


	3. Chapter 3

“Will you _please_ stop fussing? I already said I’m fine.”

Dutch said nothing as he continued to check if Hosea’s wound was properly stitched and dressed up, luckily the older man had been right when he said that the bullet had went straight through. So, it was only a matter of cleaning and stitching it up.

It was normally Hosea who treated the wounds and tended to the sick out of the two of them, so Dutch was incredibly nervous when he had to do the stitching up himself, though Hosea was helpful enough to talk him through the process.

Although it was a good enough job and the wound looked set to heal, Dutch still wasn’t happy.

“I still think you should go see a doctor, at least get a proper bandage for it.” He said, still inspecting his handy work. The closest thing they had to a dressing was the sleeve of a shirt, it was hardly impressive.

“Christ, it’s not like the arm's gonna fall off,” Hosea said, completely exasperated, “It’ll heal and just become another scar.”

Dutch only grunted in response, still not satisfied but unwilling to argue.

“Besides, it’s too risky to head into town now, we’ll have to lay low for a while.” Hosea continued, his eyes starting to drift over to where Arthur was, sitting on a nearby log with his head down.

“Shame we couldn’t go back for that stash either,” Dutch said as he paced a little, looking slightly frustrated. Hosea couldn’t exactly tell if he was blaming himself, Arthur or karma coming back to bite him.

Probably all three.

“Damn it, this wouldn’t have happened if-“

“Don’t.” Hosea warned.

“What?” Dutch challenged, glaring down at him, “You saw him out there, didn’t even try to lift his gun.”

“You didn’t really see him, he was scared out of his goddamn wits, Dutch. And that man…” Hosea shivered at the recent memory, the way that O’Driscoll talked to the boy, caressed his cheek…

“Yeah, that…well…” Dutch swallowed a hard lump that had formed in his throat at the mere thought of that moment, he never had a stronger desire to kill a man.

“At least Arthur managed to kill the bastard, eventually.” Dutch said, wanting to drop the subject there.

And they did, opting instead to slip into an uncomfortable silence. Dutch went to check the medical supplies while Hosea rested, his attention wandering over to the young boy again.

“Hey, Arthur.” He called out as softly as he could, but it was to no avail as the teen was still startled at the call of his name. Slowly, he turned his head but kept his gaze to the ground.

“…Yes, sir?” He timidly answered, his voice a mere whisper.

Hosea’s heart nearly broke at the poor sight. Arthur had been like this ever since they had come back to camp, sitting hunched over on the log, flinching at every sound or averting his gaze every time he or Dutch had tried to check up on him.

It was almost like a call-back to the day that they had found him.

_‘Back to square one.’_ Hosea thought. But it didn’t matter, he and Dutch would just have to gain that trust all over again and try a damn sight harder to keep it this time.

“How are you feeling?” The older man gently asked. He refrained from calling him “son”, he felt like he didn’t have the right to, after what had happened today.

Arthur didn’t say anything at first, choosing instead to give him a weary look.

“I’m fine, sir.” He finally said, casting his gaze back down.

Hosea hated that word, “sir”. It was cold, distant and always left a bad taste in his mouth. He remembered having to call his own father that word, he _hated_ that man.

He could feel his heart drop once again.

“I’m really sorry, Arthur. What happened… you shouldn’t have had to deal with that.” Hosea said, hoping his sad excuse of an apology would somehow get through to him.

There wasn’t much of a response, except a slight glance up. Arthur’s bright blue eyes dared to regard the elder for a few moments longer.

“…y au..lt.”

“Sorry?” Hosea said as the boy whispered something, he was talking so quietly but Hosea didn’t have the heart to ask him to speak up, he was already on incredibly thin and fragile ice as it was.

“…My fault.” Arthur said, “What happened…was my fault.”

Hosea could hear the slight break in his voice, and desperately wanted to race over and embrace him, tell him that none of it was his fault and that nothing bad would ever happen to him again.

But there was no way Arthur was going to let him get anyway near him now, so he could only use his words to comfort him.

“None of what happened was your fault, Arthur. You did your best in a terrible situation that we thrust you in.”

Well, it was actually Dutch that forced them all into it, but Hosea felt it was also his fault for letting it happen, he shouldn’t have been talked into it so easily.

“We were at fault, not you,” Hosea continued, “And if you’ll let us…we’ll try and make it up to you in any way we can.” He finished with a weak smile; it wasn’t much but…it was the best he could offer.

It seemed to have worked though, as Arthur offered a small, sad smile of his own back and nodded, as if to say he accepted.

“What are you two smiling about?” Dutch nonchalantly asked as he came back, a small bottle of whiskey in his hand.

As Arthur caught sight of both him and the drink, his eyes went wide and he quickly averted his gaze back down to the ground again, the small glimmer of hope disappearing as soon as it had come.

Hosea sighed and gave his friend an unamused look as he took a swig and offered it to him.

“No. Thank you.” The older man said in a bitter tone, Dutch merely shrugged and took another drink, coughing slightly as the liquid burned down his throat.

Hosea knew that Dutch tended to drown his sorrows when a job went wrong or when he was feeling sorry for himself, but now couldn’t have been a worse time for it.

Luckily for everyone, he didn’t become violent or even particularly aggressive when drunk, just…overly talkative. Sometimes a little confrontational.

“What about you, Arthur? You want a drink? Hell of a day you’ve had.” Dutch offered, much to Hosea’s irritation.

Arthur merely shook his head, looking incredibly nervous.

“Not talking again, huh?” Dutch said, his words slurred. He took another few gulps before plopping himself down onto a seat, nearly tipping it over as he did.

“So,” He started again, “You ever gonna tell us why you just froze up like that?”

“Dutch, leave it.” Hosea cautioned.

“’Cause I mean, you could’a just…y’know,” Dutch sloppily made a gun sign with his hand, “Bang, bang.”

He went into a fit of uncontrolled giggles as Arthur gave him a wide-eyed, perplexed look.

“Shot him!” Dutch’s voice was near enough to shouting, nearly making poor Arthur jump out of his wits at the outburst.

“You could’a….you could’a just shot the bastard.” He said again, a little quieter this time, “Before he shot Hosea…and started gettin’ all creepy and touchy with you. Goddamn bastard.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Arthur mumbled, barely audible.

“We could’a been rich too.” Dutch took another drink. Hosea was this close to just snatching the bottle away, but he could hardly move his aching body.

“I’m…I’m s-“

“Aw, you’re _sorry_ ,” Dutch drawled out in a sarcastic tone, “You hear that Hosea? He’s sorry.”

“Dutch, just stop. It wasn’t his fault.” The older man tried reasoning, but it seemed to fall upon deaf ears as Dutch suddenly rose from his chair and pointed an accusing finger at Arthur, who scrambled back at the unexpected movement.

“If you had just pulled the trigger sooner, we wouldn’t be in this damn mess! Hosea wouldn’t have had to save your ass and get shot! This is-“

“Don’t you dare!” Hosea couldn’t take it anymore, between Dutch’s constant irresponsibility and Arthur’s vulnerability, he had finally had enough.

Both Dutch and Arthur looked surprised at his outburst, though Arthur less so as he was pretty much terrified of both of them at this point.

“What? Don’t what?” Dutch angrily asked, still a little fazed by the sudden verbal attack from his friend, “Don’t blame him? It’s his-“

“No, it’s not his fault,” Hosea interrupted again, a little more calmly this time, “Everything that happened today? It’s all on _you._ ” He couldn’t hide the venom that was laced in his voice, not that he tried all that much.

For the first time, Dutch was truly speechless.

He looked more hurt than anything else, his eyebrows furrowed in sorrow as he stared Hosea down, trying to find a way to retort, to argue back that he hadn’t done anything wrong. His best friend was undermining him, betraying him.

But he couldn’t, there was nothing he could say. It _was_ his fault.

The stash that was long out of their reach, the fact that Hosea and Arthur had nearly been _killed_ , the boy’s horrible ordeal that had frozen him to the spot. It had all happened today because of him. _Him._

Silence engulfed their small camp, save for Arthur’s hitched and panicked breaths.

“I…” Dutch looked down at the frightened teen, the bottle slipping from his grasp as he stumbled slightly, “Arthur, I…I can’t…I’m-“

He finally lost his grip and the bottle smashed, the sudden noise made Arthur scramble from his seat and back up again, keeping a dangerously weary eye on Dutch as he tried to advance again.

“Son, please…I…I didn’t mean…”

“…Don’t.”

The tone in Arthur’s voice caught them both by surprise. It was still quiet but not softly spoken. There was an edge to it, like it was a warning.

“ _Don’t_ call me son.”

Once again, Dutch was stunned into silence. Even Hosea was slightly baffled, there had never been an air of authority like this, never mind it coming from a small, skinny boy they had picked up from the street.

“Arthur…” Hosea gently prodded, “Dutch didn’t mean what he said, he’s just wallowing in self-pity.”

The younger man didn’t even try to argue against that.

“Why don’t you see if the horses need feeding, eh?” The elder grunted as he struggled to get up from his seat, “We’re going to have a small chat.” He said, directing his glance at Dutch, who kept his head hung.

Arthur glanced between the two of them with a stony glare but said nothing as he turned and strode towards the awaiting horses, the animals softly nickered in excitement at his arrival.

Hosea took this chance to take Dutch aside to a nearby oak tree, he didn’t want Arthur to hear any more arguing.

“Hosea, I-“ Dutch desperately started, hoping for some form of forgiveness.

“Look, let’s just…collect our thoughts for a moment. We both said some regretful things there.” Hosea interjected, pinching the bridge of his nose.

_‘How on earth did we end up here…?’_ He thought with a long and deep sigh.

“All those things that happened,” Dutch let out a deeply hearty but pained chuckle, “How on earth does one man mess up so badly?” He asked, eerily echoing Hosea’s thoughts.

“You’d be surprised.” The older man tried his best to be comforting, but he just couldn’t find the strength right now.

“I’m sorry, Hosea. Everything…I just…”

It was strange to watch Dutch try to fumble for the correct words, he was usually so confident and inspiring when it came to talking. But now he just looked like a grizzled, sad drunk trying to figure out how to make things better again.

He was failing, miserably so.

“Dutch, just stop for a moment.” Hosea put his hands on Dutch’s shoulders to try and steady him somewhat, calm him down, “We both messed up today.”

“What? No, you didn’t. You- “

“Didn’t try hard enough. I should have tried harder. I knew Arthur wasn’t ready, but I agreed to it anyway.”

“Because I practically forced you.” Dutch drunkenly huffed.

“Look, my point is…” Hosea paused, “Arthur is our main priority now. Not money, not defying Uncle Sam or any other nonsense. We focus on that boy and nothing else from now on, you understand?”

Dutch didn’t say anything but nodded sluggishly, the alcohol still clearly in effect.

“Alright, we should start by apologising to him. Properly.” Hosea suggested as he gently took Dutch’s arm and lead him back to camp.

“You saw the way he looked at me, Hosea. He…He won’t forgive me.”

“Probably not,” Hosea agreed, before adding, “For now. We’ll have to give him time.”

“Yeah….yeah, you’re right. You’re always right.”

Obviously, the drink was making Dutch far more forbearing than usual, but Hosea would take it. He just wanted to make amends, get some rest and focus on the fresh start ahead.

He settled Dutch down into a chair by the campfire before brewing up some coffee for them.

“Here,” Hosea handed a cup over to Dutch, who gratefully took it, “Get yourself sobered up before the kid comes over.”

“I-I won’t…I won’t be so hard on him anymore, Hosea. I promise you that.”

Dutch had never looked so ashamed of himself, it almost made Hosea feel the need to comfort him and back him up, like he had done in the past when mistakes were made.

But not this time. There was a child involved now, and they both needed to feel ashamed of themselves to learn from their mistakes. Become better men, better role models for Arthur.

“Well you can start now, by apologising.” Hosea gave Dutch’s shoulder a reassuring shake, “We both will.”

“Arthur!” The older man gently called out, “Come over here, we have something to tell you.”

There was no response at first, but Hosea had expected that, Arthur was still bound to be incredibly nervous. He would probably need a couple of minutes to work up the courage to come over.

Those minutes passed by, and there was still no sign. Maybe he was still feeding the horses, even perhaps taking the time to groom them? Arthur had been very fond of the beasts ever since he had first joined them, often opting to spend the most time with them. It was only with them when he was ever truly calm.

“Arthur?” He tried again, “You alright over there? The horses ok?”

Nothing.

“Something’s wrong.” Dutch said as he unsteadily rose from his seat, he and Hosea exchanging worried glances, “Come on.”

When they reached the nearby hitching post, they could see their own horses peacefully nibbling away at the grass, their coats gleaming thanks to a recent brushing. But Arthur was nowhere to be seen, along with his ginger mare.

Dutch and Hosea just stood in the clearing, staring. Nothing could describe that tight knot feeling that was in their stomachs, the subtle tone of dread that crept up their spines, the skip in their heartbeat. It was nothing like they had ever felt before.

“He’s… gone.”

* * *

Arthur had spent his whole life in fear.

He was sick of it.

Arthur’s horse let out a snort of protest as he spurred her to go faster along the narrow forest path that lead them to…well, he didn’t even know where. All he knew was that he needed to get away from…them.

“Sorry, girl.” He softly mumbled in apology, giving her neck a gentle pat.

She seemed to accept it as she shook her head and continued onward, sensing her rider’s urgency to keep going.

Arthur sat back in the saddle and kept an eye on his woodland surroundings, glancing back every now and then to see if he was being followed.

He knew it was only going to be a matter of time before this would happen, in fact he was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. Maybe they were the type to lull their victim into a false sense of security before lashing out. His pa had done the same thing on occasion, though he wasn’t as patient as they had been.

Arthur thought back to when he had first met them.

He truly thought he was going to die that day, finally be free of this terrible, cruel world. He didn’t believe in Heaven, Hell or any of that nonsense, but he had hoped that maybe he would have been reunited with his momma, somehow. He really missed her.

But the man that had beat him so relentlessly suddenly gave up and left, and then two more had rushed into the scene, probably to finish him off. Arthur remembered grabbing his knife, hoping the pathetic excuse of a threat would possibly put them off.

Then they had put their hands up to show they weren’t a threat, using soft words and gentle coaxing that threw him off guard. Only his mother had ever talked to him like that, and it confused him. Why had these strange men come to help him? No one else had ever bothered.

They continued to perplex him after that day. They took him in and cleaned him up, tended to his wounds, fed him, taught him to read and write, to hunt and shoot a gun. They still hadn’t demanded anything from him yet, disciplined him or threatened him, the whole situation just got stranger every day.

As Arthur observed them, he could tell that the older, blonde-haired one was attentive and gentle while the younger and dark-haired one was slyer and more confident, but both seemed to work together very well.

Yet at the same time, they didn’t.

They had argued a lot, often about him. Both wanted different things, the elder seemed intent on protecting him while the younger wanted to teach him things like how to plan a house robbery, pull off stagecoach robberies and other misguided deeds.

Their bickering often reminded Arthur of his parents, only difference was that it didn’t end with one of them looking down the barrel of a gun.

He really did think they were different. He was even hopeful that he could start living carefree around them, let his guard down and truly feel safe for once.

But alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Today had taught him that.

Arthur knew he deserved it though. He did bad, so he was punished. That was the way things were.

He hated it though. Why _couldn’t_ he have nice things? Was something out there so angry with him that he was going to be stuck like this forever? Always looking over his shoulder for the next threat?

The young teen shook his head, deciding he wasn’t really the one to figure this sort of stuff out.

Just the way the world was, he supposed.

His nose twitched at a strange scent that was starting to waft through the area, smelt like smoke, most likely a campfire. That meant people were nearby.

Arthur decided he didn’t want to see any more people today.

But there was no way to diverge from the path without going into the thick foliage, which his horse surely wouldn’t be too pleased about, and there was no way he was going back to where he came from.

There was no choice but to go forward.

Arthur spurred his horse onwards, keeping his head down and his hand near his knife. He just hoped that he would be able to pass by, undisturbed.

But it seemed as though there wasn’t even anyone _to_ disturb as he came across what appeared to be a tiny, abandoned camp, if it could even be called that. There was nothing but a tattered bedroll, a rucksack and the singed remains of a small fire. Someone had been here recently, but where were they now? Hunting perhaps?

Arthur eyed the bulging bag that was just…laying there for the taking. The person must have either been carefree or stupid, maybe both.

The boy knew he should just move on but…he had nothing for supplies. No food or anything to even catch a meal, apart from his flimsy knife.

And if there was something valuable in there, he could bring it back to Hosea and Dutch as a peace offering. It had often worked with his father when he was in a particularly foul mood, so there was a good chance it would work with them. It would make up for his failure at the stagecoach robbery.

…Did that mean he wanted to go back? He wasn’t sure.

Hosea had been somewhat kind to him after the whole incident, seeming sincere in his apology. Even Dutch seemed to regret his drunken, harsh words.

Which, again, confused Arthur. Why did they regret what they did? He had deserved it, after all. They didn’t even punish him when he had answered Dutch back, telling him not to call him son. Arthur wasn’t even sure why he had said that, something had just come over him, something like anger.

Thinking about it all just made his head hurt. He didn’t understand any of it, or them.

Regardless, he was desperate for supplies and there was an opportunity presented to him, he wasn’t going to waste it.

Dismounting from his horse, Arthur cautiously made his way over to the bag before kneeling to rummage through it and discover what riches lay inside. He was almost giddy at the thought of it.

He was a little disappointed though when all he could find were a few a cans of beans, a bundle of clothes and a…wait, what was…?

Arthur pulled out a small, silver ring. It was hardly worth anything of value but there was something… vaguely familiar about it. He had seen this ring before somewhere, he was sure. But where…?

His eyes widened and his breath hitched, it felt like his heart had stopped beating altogether.

Arthur dropped the piece of jewellery and scrambled away from it like it was the plague, struggling to get to his feet. His legs felt weak, his whole body felt weak, he wanted to throw up.

There was no way in _Hell._ There had to be some other explanation. This couldn’t be happening. Arthur knew he had done bad but _this?_ Even he couldn’t have deserved this much punishment. No. He had to get away. Right now. He had to-

The click of a gun froze Arthur in place, the cold barrel of the weapon placed against the back of his head.

The boy felt so numb he didn’t even notice the tears streaming down his cheeks when an all too familiar voice said,

“That any way to greet your old man?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur just wants nice things and I feel terrible.
> 
> Also I promise Dutch isn't a complete a**hole, he's just /complex/
> 
> And hey, y'all can catch me on Tumblr ( under the same name) or on Red Dead Online trying not to get lassoed or killed, hit me up! xD
> 
> P.S Apologies if there's any errors, I'm editing at 1am and I need sleep


	4. Chapter 4

“ _Goddamnit, Dutch! He’s gone!”_

Dutch had never seen Hosea so panicked in his life. He had always been so patient, calm and cool-headed in even the toughest of situations, always calculating their next steps when the law was on their tail or effortlessly talking himself or Dutch out of a jail sentence with the promise of a whiskey bottle.

But the way he was now, even had Dutch scared out of his wits.

“H-Hosea, just calm down.” He nervously tried as the older man paced frantically, “We’ll…we’ll find him.”

“So help me God, if something happens to that boy-“ Hosea didn’t even bother to finish the sentence as he rubbed his face in sheer desperation, “I won’t ever forgive myself. Or you.”

Dutch couldn’t help but feel a slight sting at that, regardless he shoved his own feelings aside for the moment. He had been selfish enough today.

“Nothing will happen to him, Hosea. You have my word on that.”

“Your word?” Hosea asked, incredulous. “What goddamn good has your _word_ done so far?”

Dutch went quiet, unable to think of a plausible answer.

Hosea scoffed at the lack of response before going over to his horse, “I’m gonna go find him.”

“No, you’re not.” Dutch interjected, grabbing Hosea’s uninjured arm to pull him back, “You need to rest, I’ll go and look for him.”

“He’ll just keep running if he sees you.” The older man said with a harsh tone, pulling his arm away, “It’s your fault we’re in this mess.”

Dutch didn’t even try to reach for him again, letting his own arm fall limply at his side. He just stood there as Hosea turned his back on him and prepared the saddlebags on his horse, checking them for supplies and weapons.

He couldn’t help but flinch every time he saw his friend wince as he moved his injured shoulder. Clearly, he wasn’t fit for riding out into the dusk with God knows what out there, but it was plain to see that Hosea didn’t care. All he wanted was to find Arthur.

“I…I know it’s my fault,” Dutch uneasily started, “I have been…completely irresponsible and a… _terrible_ influence on that boy, I understand that. I-I really do.”

Hosea slowly stopped what he was doing and turned his head slightly.

“The way I treated him…there’s no excuse for it,” Dutch was honestly terrified of what to say, unlike all his other speeches, this hadn’t been planned or written out. It just…came from nowhere.

“I guess I was just…scared? Didn’t really know how to feel about…a boy, a goddamn _child_ being dependant on me. U-Us, I mean.” He swiftly corrected, “I didn’t know how the Hell to go about it, then I saw the way you took to him, how he took to you.”

“…Christ, Dutch. You weren’t-“

“Jealous?” The younger man answered for him, “Suppose I was.” He answered with a warm, bittersweet smile. He chuckled at the stupidity of it all while Hosea gave him a semi-sympathetic look.

“That boy admires you, Hosea. I wanted him to admire me too.” He admitted, “I thought reading and writing would have helped but…God, you saw the way he looked at me. Think he would have preferred to wrestle a bear than have me teach him.”

Hosea snorted in amusement, almost even smiled.

“I thought…that maybe a good robbery would give him more confidence in me and…have him see me in a different light. Like…like he saw you.”

Dutch ended it there, unable to think of anything else to say. He felt like he had lifted a huge weight off his shoulders, yet he still felt like he was a terrible person. He couldn’t even meet Hosea’s gaze as the older man closed the gap between them, putting a heavy but steady hand on his shoulder.

“Dutch, look at me.” Hosea gently prodded.

The younger man didn’t need to be told twice as his eyes glanced up.

“That boy admires you too.”

Dutch scoffed, he knew what this was, the oldest trick in the book.

“Hosea, don’t-“

“No, it’s true.” Hosea said, a certain determination in his voice, “It wasn’t just me who saved him from the streets or taught him how to hunt.”

“I only took him hunting one time and taught him how to completely obliterate a rabbit. Never really was much of a hunter.” There was a hint of fondness in Dutch’s tone as he remembered back to that awful hunting trip. The way they both just stood there when Arthur shot the rabbit with a much too powerful gun, the poor thing practically exploded. Still, he imagined it would be something he could joke about with Arthur in the future.

He tried to ignore that painful jab in his chest.

“Doesn’t matter, you spent time with him. Showed him that the world ain’t so bad. He was really starting to come out of his shell, he was starting to trust us. You saw that, didn’t you?”

The soft realisation in Dutch’s face was all Hosea needed for an answer.

He patted the younger’s shoulder in reassurance, “He’s your boy just as much as he is mine.”

“…We need to get him back.” Was all Dutch could manage to say, unsure of how to react to the whole situation. His stomach was still in a knot and the pain in his chest was still there.

Was this how a parent would have felt?

Hosea merely patted his shoulder again and nodded in response. They were both silently in agreement.

“The ground’s pretty moist around here and he took the horse, so there should be some tracks that could lead us to him,” Hosea analysed as he took a good look around the surrounding area, “We should split up, search for hoofprints or something.”

Dutch gave him a quick nod and they went their separate ways. He went for the nearby woodland while Hosea searched the open field where the other two horses were grazing.

He couldn’t help but smile a bit, Hosea had always been second to none when it came to tracking, no animal had ever been ever to give him the slip.

Dutch would have been completely lost without him, despite the charismatic and confident front he always had, it was only really because Hosea always had his back.

Dutch rubbed his face and lightly slapped his cheeks to force himself to focus, he could feel the last of the whiskey losing its grip on him, and he felt exhausted. Regardless, he carefully combed through the opening of the woodlands, examining the surrounding thicket for any sign of a horse travelling through.

There was nothing, no tracks, no snapped twigs or branches, no rustled plants or anything of the sort. No sign of Arthur whatsoever.

Dutch could feel himself get more worried and more frustrated with himself with each passing minute. His panic continued to rise as he heard nothing from Hosea either, indicating that he also hadn’t found anything yet.

He forced himself to go deeper into the treeline, almost hyper-focusing on any kind of detail he could find, wanting to scream in utter infuriation when he could still find nothing.

Running out of options, he was about to call out for Arthur when he felt his boots squelch into something.

“Oh, _Goddamnit!_ ” He shouted in exasperation as he moved quickly to get his foot out and rubbed it against the grass to try and clean the boot. This was all he needed-

Wait.

Dutch’s eyes widened as he looked down at the pile of debris. There was no doubt about it, this had come from a horse, and it was fresh as well. Much to both his excitement and slight hint of dismay.

His relief only grew when he saw a set of hoofprints make their way into the woodlands along a thin pathway. Fear and worry crept back into his mind as he started to think of what could be in those woods right now, or worse; what was going to be coming out once the sun had completely set.

“Hosea!” Dutch called out in the loudest voice he could muster, “I found the tracks! Get over here!”

It wasn’t long before he could hear the pounding of hooves coming his way, Hosea came riding in while pulling Dutch’s horse along with him, the poor animal nearly being dragged.

“What have you found?” Hosea asked in a demanding tone, wincing slightly in pain as he dismounted. Dutch frowned, still wondering if he should have just went looking for Arthur himself.

He decided against it when he met Hosea’s fierce eyes.

“Well, I uh… found that first,” Dutch gestured to the horse manure before moving onto the fresh hoofprints that were embedded into the mud, “Then I found these, leads into the woods.”

“Well, what are we waiting for then? C’mon. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to him before it’s dark.” Hosea said as he and Dutch quickly mounted up again.

“…You sure you’re up for this?” Dutch reluctantly asked, still concerned for his friend’s welfare, “With your shoulder and all-“

“Dutch.” Hosea interrupted, holding up a hand to shush him before looking him straight in the eye, it was a look the younger man had never seen before. One that would shake any man down to his core.

“I have never been more sure about anything in my life.”

Dutch didn’t dare argue against that, only nodding in response with a fierce expression of his own before spurring his horse on with new integrity.

“Then let’s go get our boy back.”

* * *

Arthur swallowed a dry lump down his throat, warm beads of sweat ran down his forehead as he tried to control his erratic breathing.

“N-no…” He managed to stutter, “You…you can’t be a-alive…they…the law caught you!”

The boy flinched as a deep chuckle resonated from behind him, the cold barrel of the gun pressed harder into the back of his head, forcing a pathetic whimper to escape from his mouth.

“And what, you thought they’d put a noose around my neck? Well, I sure am glad to see you too, son.” The man sniggered as he lifted the gun from Arthur’s head, though he kept it pointed at the teen as he circled around him.

As Arthur finally got a good look at him, he could tell that the past couple of months they had spent apart had not been kind to him. He looked far more grizzled than last time, his facial hair had grown wildly past his chin and he looked like he hadn’t washed in a while. Arthur realised he must have been camping rough since his supposed escape.

“You’re lookin’ good.” His father commented, a stark contrast to Arthur’s thoughts about him.

The teen didn’t reply, opting instead to keep his eyes down. He remembered that looking him straight in the eye meant a beating.

“Yeah, you’re lookin’ real good.” The man reiterated, giving him a thorough once over, “What’chu do, get adopted by a rich family?”

Arthur merely shrugged, not knowing what to say or do.

“Nah, even those bastards wouldn’t be thick enough to take a runt like you in.”

The harsh words cut Arthur like a knife.

The past month with Hosea and Dutch had softened him, made him used to kind words and soft encouragement, feeling safe and secure and wanted. But these last few seconds reunited with his pa brought horrible memories and flashbacks come flooding back into his mind, ones of cruel punishment and being made to feel ashamed for even existing.

Despite Hosea slapping him, despite Dutch’s drunken accusations. He wanted to go back to them, back to that cocoon of warm meals and being taught Miller’s boring philosophy. Back to learning how to hunt with a bow and being praised despite not knowing what he did to deserve it. Back to being utterly confused, but loved like a son by two kind men who barely even knew him.

Something hard and blunt hit Arthur on the side of his head, bringing him crashing back down to reality.

“You listening to me, boy?”

No, he didn’t want this.

“You tryin’ to test me?

He wanted Hosea and Dutch.

“I _said_ -“

Without a moment’s hesitation, Arthur lunged and tackled his father to the ground, knocking the wind out of the two of them. He was lucky he had the element of surprise on his side, but Arthur knew he only had a few seconds before the older man would easily overpower him, he had to act fast.

The young boy grabbed his knife and used the hilt to knock the gun out of his father’s hand, disarming him completely. But he knew his old man didn’t need a gun to kill, he had seen him use other, much slower methods plenty of times.

“You little _shit!_ ” The man screamed as he pushed his fist into his son’s face, effortlessly knocking him away.

Arthur crashed to the ground with a grunt, his cheek throbbing in pain. It was all coming back to him again, the memories, the pain, the unyielding desire to just…

His hand gripped the knife he still had, his knuckles turning white from the sheer force and his nails digging ruthlessly into the wood of the hilt. Arthur gritted his teeth as he watched his pa quickly crawl towards the gun, the pupils in his eyes constricted as something psychotic took over them.

With an infuriated cry, Arthur lunged again, plunging the knife into his father’s back.

The older man yelled in pain; the sound was like music to Arthur’s ears. He relished in the moment, an almost crazed smile took over his lips as he realised that this was it, this was the day he was finally going to be set free. He could go back to Hosea and Dutch, he would work hard and impress them again, convince them that he was worth keeping.

Arthur relished for too long.

Before he could finish twisting the knife, the teen was struck again, and this time he was put down for good as his dad wrestled him to the ground. Easily overpowering the boy, despite his injury.

“You…you think you can…get away that easy?” The man teased in between pants, “Your mother wouldn’t be too happy….at your lack of manners, boy.”

“Why do you still have it?” Arthur suddenly asked as he thrashed against the grip that held him so tightly against the ground. He was answered with a mouth full of dirt as his face was shoved into the ground again.

“You think you’re in any position to ask me questions?” A voice snarled into his ear before he was hoisted up again, “You’re lucky I don’t slit your throat with this.”

To prove his point, his father pulled the knife out with a pained gasp before he slowly and shakily held it up against Arthur’s neck, the blade still dripping with fresh blood.

“Just think, nobody would even give two shits if you were gone. In fact, they’d probably thank me. Hail me as a hero, that’s how _worthless_ you are, my boy.” He said with a cruel grin, slowly caressing the knife against his son’s skin.

“No, you’re…you’re wrong,” Arthur said with a quiet but strong defiance. His voice shook with…something, he couldn’t tell if it was anger or fear. Probably a strange mix of the two.

“Oh, am I now?”

Arthur yelped when he felt a strong tug against his hair, forcing his head backwards, forcing him to look his father in the eyes.

“Yeah. I-I got a gang, and they’re…they’re looking for me. R-right now,” The teen stuttered, earning a curious look from the man, “They’ll k-kill you if you…if you don’t let me go. They’ll gut you where you stand.”

Arthur’s threat didn’t even seem to bother his dad, in fact it had quite the opposite effect as he burst into a hysterical laughter, the sound sent a dreadful chill down the boy’s spine.

“They’ll gut me, will they? Like _you_ just tried to do?”

“T-they will-“

“Who will?”

“Du-“

“Nobody!” His father interrupted, gesturing to the empty space around them before turning back to his son, gripping him even tighter than before, “Nobody is coming for you, boy. Nobody would _ever_ take in a desperate runt like you, and don’t you forget it.”

Arthur let those words sink in as he felt himself get lifted roughly to his feet, wheezing as whatever breath he had left got knocked out of his body.

So, this was it? Was he seriously doomed to go back to the life that he so hopelessly tried to escape from? Was he not allowed anything better than beatings and constantly fearing for his life?

Were…were Dutch and Hosea even looking for him…?

They had no reason to. What was he to them? A common street urchin who showed no respect when they treated him with kindness, failed them with the one task they trusted him with, nearly got them all killed and ran away when he was shown forgiveness.

They…they had no reason to…

Arthur’s heart dropped; he barely even registered the fact that his pa was talking to him again.

He was quickly reminded with a punch to the gut.

“I _said_ you best start using your legs before I cut ‘em off myself, I ain’t dragging you the whole way!” His father angrily snarled as he hoisted Arthur up again, who simply kept as limp as a ragdoll, staring blankly ahead.

His mind was whirring, he didn’t want to go back. He would rather die. But he didn’t really _want_ to die. He wanted Hosea to come and tell him that everything was going to be alright. He wanted Dutch to come in, guns blazing, demanding Arthur to be let go.

But nothing happened. All he had were angry words spiralling around him, a constricted, aching body and a pounding head.

Reacting on pure instinct, Arthur’s teeth met flesh.

The taste of copper filled his mouth as he bit down as hard as he could, hoping by some miracle it would be enough for his attacker to let go, to give him a chance to get away from here. Run away and start a new life, for good this time.

But all he got was a pained chuckle and an elbow crashing into his nose.

 A horrible crunch and a screaming wail from Arthur followed.

“Oh, don’t give me that, you’re lucky you ain’t got worse.” His father drawled out as he continued to drag his crying son towards his horse, a beaten down and ragged old nag that must have served as Arthur’s replacement for a while, given that it was covered in scars, old and fresh.

The beast grunted and huffed as Arthur’s dead weight was suddenly thrown onto its back, followed by its owner.

“That your horse over there, son?”

The whimpering teen glanced over to the ginger mare that was nervously fidgeting nearby, she threw her head slightly and snorted as she met Arthur’s eyes, stomping her front hooves in some sort of intimidation display towards his father.

Arthur would have smiled if not for the dire situation, it was nice to think that something still cared for him.

“Fiery l’il thing, ain’t it?” The older man said, a little bemused, “Shame you won’t need it no more.”

With that, he pulled out his gun and shot at her before Arthur could even react.

“Shit!”

Luckily, the bullet had completely missed her, but had spooked her enough into bolting into the woods, a shrill whinny following her down the path. Arthur almost cried with relief, thankful that the animal he loved had been spared from that man’s wrath.

“Well, look at that. Even your loyal steed has abandoned you,” His dad said with a smirk before he reached down and grabbed the bandana that was tied around Arthur’s neck, ripping it off.

“Won’t be needing this no more either, you ain’t no outlaw, my boy. You ain’t cut out for that line of work, trust me.”

_“Trust me.”_

The words echoed in Arthur’s head, over and over like a bad itch. He watched the black cloth softly float down to the ground, it was the only thing he had left that had been given to him by Hosea and Dutch. It seemed so far away, yet barely out of reach.

His last memory of a life that could have been.

A gentle hand caressed his head, delicately patting his short, sandy brown hair. For a brief moment, Arthur thought he was back at camp, that Hosea was trying to wake him up and tell him that he was having some kind of horrible nightmare.

He looked up with a small ounce of hope, only to have it shattered as he gazed into his father’s smiling face, fond and warm.

“Let’s go home, son.”

Arthur was knocked into the quiet darkness that awaited him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a family reunion, eh? 
> 
> Just wanted to say a quick thanks for all the lovely words from y'all (both here and on Tumblr), each and every one really keeps me spurred on to write, thanks so much! :'D


	5. Chapter 5

It was empty, quiet, peaceful…everything Arthur would have wanted if he were to die.

But the pounding in his head and the searing pain in his nose quickly reminded him that he was, in fact, still alive.

There was a musty yet familiar scent in the air, giving him a fair idea of where he was. Arthur’s eyes slowly opened a crack, letting whatever light there was in the room to burn into them, forcing him to seal them shut again. He didn’t even have to open his eyes to know that he was home.

Well, not home but rather the place where he was raised.

And beaten, and scolded, and starved, and burned.

No, he couldn’t call it home.

But there was something else in the air, a stench that was…heavy. It burned into Arthur’s nostrils, causing him to scrunch up his nose. He couldn’t quite tell what it was, he wasn’t even sure if he really wanted to know.

As the teenager got a vague bearing on his surroundings, he set his mind on the next task of getting the hell out of this house. He tried to stand up, his legs weakly shaking at the effort before he was roughly pulled back down by something attached to his arm.

Finally opening his eyes and looking up, Arthur could see that there was some sort of chain wrapped tightly around his wrist, tethering him to an old, dusty brick wall. It was crumbling and unsteady but still sturdy enough, so there was no chance he was going to be able to pull the chain off. Someone bigger and stronger could have, but not him.

 Not a pathetic little weakling like him.

Arthur shook his head; his father’s influence was quickly starting to rub off on him again. After so many months away and he was finally starting to forget those thoughts, now they were springing from his subconscious like unwanted pests.

Just like him.

The boy pushed the horrible thoughts aside and forced himself to focus, if he could get out of here then he could go to the authorities, get his father arrested again and maybe this time they’ll have him strung up like he was supposed to be in the first place.

Knowing his luck though, his father would probably find a way to worm his way out of the noose again.

What confused Arthur was the fact that only one arm had been tied up, his other was completely free, though it didn’t really do much good since there was nothing around that he could grab at to try and cut himself free.

Still, one hand was better than none.

The first thing Arthur reached for was his nose, flinching when the contact sent a burning pain through it. It was bent slightly, definitely broken. He knew this would only be the start.

The house was eerily quiet, save for the creaking of the rotting wood floors and the more pleasant sound of chirping birds outside, meaning that his pa must have either went back out or simply went to sleep. Either way, Arthur knew he couldn’t afford to make much noise.

Being as silent as he could, he tried to shuffle on the spot and turn around to try and grab the chain. Every movement he made had his muscles screaming at him to stop, but he persevered, his desperation to get out of this place completely overtaking him.

Arthur’s panicked mind slowly wandered back to Hosea and Dutch, a glimmer of hope still lingered that the pair would somehow manage to find him and get him as far away from here as possible. He knew it was wishful thinking, but he just couldn’t help it. He needed _something_ to latch on to, even if it was a complete fantasy.

Suddenly, a door slammed shut, the vibration nearly shaking the whole house. The boy’s eyes widened as he quickly abandoned his futile escape and settled back down to the floor. It had sounded like the front door to the house, which meant only two possibilities.

Either his father had returned, or Hosea and Dutch had somehow managed to track him and were now kicking the front door down.

He desperately hoped it was the latter.

Arthur’s breath hitched as he waited in silence, nothing but heavy footsteps echoed throughout the house, he could feel his heart drop as he only heard one pair slowly go through the hallway, getting closer to the room he was in.

Perhaps it was Hosea checking the house out for any danger while Dutch stood guard outside, or vice versa. Arthur continued to desperately latch onto that tiny bit of hope as the footsteps suddenly stopped outside the door.

Time itself seemed to stop as something turned the door handle and pushed it open, the wood creaking in protest.

“Hello son, how’s that nose of yours?” A terrifyingly familiar voice asked with a complete lack of concern.

Arthur’s hope was smashed and replaced with the creeping dread that tingled up his spine, something that he hadn’t felt in a long while. Something that he hoped he wouldn’t have to feel ever again.

His father came into the room and shut the door behind him before walking up to Arthur in a nonchalant manner with what appeared to be some sort of bowl of food and a spoon in his hand, the room filled up with its repulsive stench.

 Arthur tried to hold back a petrified whine as the older man stopped and kneeled to his level, putting the bowl down to cup his son’s face in his hands, seemingly checking him over.

“Oh, come on now. Don’t be like that,” He said in a voice that sounded like it was trying to be somewhat encouraging, “Ain’t you glad to be home?”

Arthur said nothing as he averted his gaze, he knew that answering him back was practically a death sentence.

“This is your old room. Don’t you recognise it?”

Oh yes, he recognised it all right. The lack of a bed, the chains, the slither of light and the faded stains of old blood that decorated the floor. This room held plenty of memories for him, not a single one of them pleasant.

Save for the little ones of when his mother had still been around to raise him, shielding him from the brunt of the abuse, until it killed her.

When Arthur didn’t reply again, his pa merely huffed, surprisingly no beatings came.

Instead, the older man reached down and lifted the bowl again, showing it to the young teen.

“Brought you some food.” He said, stirring the contents of the bowl. Arthur could feel his stomach lurch as the stench overpowered his broken nose, he just about managed to hold off the urge to retch.

Whatever was inside that bowl was _not_ food, it couldn’t even be passed for something edible. It looked like some sort of black sludge-like stew with old rotting vegetables and bloody chunks of raw meat.

Arthur could have sworn he saw something move in the liquid.

Was this what his father had been eating for the past few months? It would have explained why he looked like he was at death’s door. This stuff would have been killing him.

“Now, I know I ain’t a cook like your momma but…” He paused there, looking somewhat conflicted before dipping the spoon into the stew and bringing a hefty portion up to Arthur’s clamped mouth, “You gotta eat, son.”

Arthur silently shook his head.

“Come on now, just a few bites.” He tried again; his tone surprisingly soft.

The boy had his eyes glued to the ground and kept his mouth shut, hoping that somehow this would all just disappear. His dad, the repulsive stench, all of it.

“I ain’t asking.”

Without any warning, Arthur’s mouth was suddenly pried open by a powerful grip. He could feel the cold metal of the spoon almost go down his throat along with the disgusting slop that came with it. His head was roughly pulled back to let the stew slide down his throat before he was subjected to a few more mouthfuls.

Arthur’s body almost started to convulse from the lack of oxygen as he hardly got a chance to breathe between the hand that kept his mouth open, the spoonfuls of the gut-wrenching meal being shoved down his throat and the bile that was rising from his stomach.

He weakly lifted his free hand in what he knew was a futile attempt to fight back.

It seemed to spark something off in his father’s eyes though, as the older man suddenly stopped what he was doing and pulled back, letting Arthur gasp for breath before bringing back up the horrid contents of his stomach.

The teenager had never been more glad to be sick. If his father wasn’t going to kill him, then food poisoning would have.

“Look, I’m just trying to-“ His pa paced slightly and frantically ran a hand through his thinning hair, as if he was trying to come up with some sort of excuse for what he had just done.

“I am just…trying to _provide_ for you. It ain’t been easy since your mother-“

He stopped again, silence took over the room, save for Arthur’s laboured breaths.

“This is how you repay me?” He incredulously asked as he gestured to the pile of regurgitated food beside Arthur, “You’re gonna learn to be a little more grateful, you hear me boy?”

He lingered for a moment longer, looking down at his son with an unreadable expression before storming out of the room, slamming the door shut. There was a muffled shout of, _“Ungrateful l’il shit!”_ before another door slammed, presumably the front of the house.

That probably meant he was going to be gone for a while, at least.

After a few long moments of sitting in silence, just to make sure he was gone, Arthur finally let himself break into tears. The young boy struggled to catch breath as he hiccupped erratically, his throat burning every time he did. But he didn’t care, he just wanted someone to wake him up from this God-awful nightmare.

“Hosea…” He desperately but quietly called out, “Dutch…” He tried to control his breathing as hot tears streamed down his cheeks. His chest just kept getting tighter, his heart ached for someone to come and free him from this place, to embrace him and tell him that everything was going to be alright, that he was safe and sound now.

“Momma… _please…”_

Arthur just kept begging over and over as he hugged himself with his free arm and rocked back and forth against the chain, desperate for some form of comfort. He cried well into the night, until his body tired itself out and he was greeted with the cold embrace of unconsciousness.

* * *

“Arthur!”

_“Arthur!”_

Dutch and Hosea rode through the increasingly thinning trail, calling out desperately, praying for any kind of answer in return.

“Oh God, what if he’s-“

“Don’t, Hosea.” Dutch said, his voice firm and strong, yet gentle enough to reassure his panicking friend, “We’ll find him.”

He deliberately left out the part that Arthur would be fine. Hosea was right, he could have been caught by the law that were still no doubt in the area, looking for them. Or he could have been dead in a ditch, mauled by some wild cougar or bear or wolf or-

Dutch shook his head, he had to keep his resolve for Hosea’s sake. Stay strong for the both of them.

An ear-splitting whinny suddenly echoed through the forest, startling them both as they instinctively brought out their guns. Dutch and Hosea exchanged a glance as the pounding of hooves got closer to them, no doubt coming along the same path they were on.

There was a small glimmer of hope at the back of their minds that it could be Arthur, having had a change of heart and was now racing to get back to them. Or the more sinister approach of the law or some bandits chancing their luck on a lone pair out on the trail in the middle of the night.

But it was neither, as a lone horse came thundering their way, only to come screeching to a halt and rearing when it saw Dutch and Hosea in its way. Its eyes were wide with fright and it pounded at the ground with its front hooves as if to try and warn them off, its auburn hair shone beautifully in the dappled moonlight.

“Wait, that’s…” Hosea muttered as he dismounted his own horse with a pained grunt before slowly making his way towards the spooked animal.

There was no doubt about it, this was Arthur’s horse. Calida, he had called her. She was as fiery tempered and loud-mouthed as a horse could come, though she seemed much more agitated than usual.

The lack of rider was an immediate cause for concern.

“Shhhh…easy there girl, you’re ok…” Hosea softly muttered as the beast eventually managed to calm down somewhat, allowing him to stroke her muzzle.

“Something must have attacked them up there.” Dutch concluded as he glared up the path, his finger twitched at the trigger of his gun, ready to take down anything that had dared to hurt that boy.

“Maybe. We should go take a look,” Hosea said as he mounted up again, tethering Calida to his own horse to make sure they didn’t lose her, “Just take it easy with that gun there, don’t want any more casualties tonight.”

With that, Hosea spurred his horse further up the path with Dutch close in tow, the younger man begrudgingly heeding his advice and holstering his gun.

It wasn’t long before they came across what looked like the saddest excuse of a camp they had ever seen, comprised of only a bedroll and a small campfire that had long been put out.

Both men dismounted and had a look around for any traces of Arthur, though Hosea had to calm Calida down once again as merely being in the camp seemed to agitate her even more.

“She’s spooked again,” Hosea muttered as he stroked her neck, “You’re right, Dutch. Something…must have happened here.” The older man said with a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Dutch only hummed in agreement, not really wanting to think about the many possibilities regarding Arthur’s fate. His mind couldn’t stop whirring when he came across a couple of discarded beer bottles, clearly not belonging to the boy as he had displayed a certain dismay towards the beverages ever since they had found him.

Dutch felt a pang of guilt hit him once again.

As they both continued to look around, they both felt like…there was almost a heavy cloud of…something hanging over this place. Dutch couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but it made him feel incredibly uneasy.

“Over here.” Hosea called out; his voice heavy.

“What is it?” The younger man asked, not quite sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“There’s tracks here. Look.” Hosea pointed out as he knelt down to gingerly touch the soil.

It was hard to tell just what had happened here, the prints were a bit all over the place with small indents to large sweeps of dirt, little flecks of crimson littered the area too, indicating a fight.

Or a struggle.

What was clear to the eye though; were two sets of footprints. One set far too large to be Arthur’s and the other set looking as though they had been dragged up to something. As Dutch and Hosea followed the tracks, they came across something that nearly made their hearts leap; Arthur’s bandana.

Dutch picked up the black cloth and stared at it with a sorrowful frown, this was what he had given to the boy just before that mess of a stagecoach robbery. It was meant to be a goodwill gift for his first successful job, they were going to celebrate his ‘graduation’ into the outlaw life and welcome him in as a permanent part of their small gang.

The Van der Lindes, Dutch thought it had a good ring to it, as egotistical as it was.

But now it was just him and Hosea, looking for a little boy, under their care, who could have very well have been dead by now.

All because of him.

Dutch was pulled out of his thoughts by a gentle pressure on his shoulder, he pulled his eyes away from the bandana to glance at Hosea, who gave him a small shake.

“…I’ll never forgive myself, Hosea. I…he…”

“We’re gonna find him and take him home. You promised me, remember?”

Dutch couldn’t muster the strength to say yes, to give Hosea the reassurance that he so desperately needed right now.

“We’ll _find_ him,” Hosea reiterated with a small break in his voice, he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anything else, “So help me God, we will.”

From where they had found the bandana, there were hoof prints leading further up the path, leading to who knows where. But if it led to Arthur, Hosea and Dutch were going to follow without hesitation, damn the consequences.

They mounted up and urged their horses to go faster down the moonlit path, determined to kill whoever had dared to lay a hand on their boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait, between my job and other life stuff, I've been having less time to write, so the next few chapters might have a slight wait as well (though I aim to get one chapter out per week). Let me know what y'all think! :D


	6. Chapter 6

_“Great job, son. Real good.”_

_“You did really well today, Arthur.”_

_“Try it again. C’mon, I know you can get it.”_

The words circled around in Arthur’s head as he stared blankly ahead with strained eyes, almost bloodshot from the lack of sleep for the past…

How long had he been here now? Hours? Days? Weeks? He had no idea.

He shifted his aching body, regretting it instantly when the cuts and bruises that covered him stung with new vigour from the movement. Arthur knew that he wasn’t going to be able to take much more.

 He liked to think that he was the strong and stoic type, but he knew that he was anything but.

_“You’re a survivor. You did what you had to for survival.”_

_“Whatever happens, we’re proud of you.”_

_“Just know that.”_

The young boy let out a shaky sigh as his mind wandered back to Hosea and Dutch once again, all the kind words they had ever said to him. It was cruel, letting his heart ache the way it did with false hope, but he just couldn’t help himself.

It was clear now that they weren’t coming for him. Why would they? Risk life and limb for some feral rat they picked up from the street? They had tried to teach him, feed him, make him feel safe, but he had failed them. He couldn’t repay what they had given to him, and now he was paying the price for it.

He supposed this was what karma was.

Arthur took another shuddering breath, praying to whatever God was out there to at least give him a quick end, if anything. He could feel his body getting weaker, his resolve slipping away…

“You alright there, boy?”

Just like that, Arthur’s senses came rushing back. A pump of adrenaline rushed through his body, giving it an ounce of new life as the threat that was his father came into view.

It seemed karma wasn’t quite done with him yet.

“Brought you some water,” The older man offered, kneeling down and offering the cold glass, “F-for your…erm…throat.” He said, quite sheepishly. It was almost as if he were ashamed.

Arthur eyed the glass eagerly, the water that swished around looked cold and crystalline clear, droplets rolling off the hinges. It took everything in him not to lurch forward and down it in one gulp.

However, after a few blinks, both his vision and hallucination cleared up. Arthur grimaced as the water took on a murky brown tone, smears of dirt covering the glass. He almost wondered if he should just take it and hope that the contamination would kill him quickly.

He relented, choosing instead to look to the side to show that he didn’t want it.

The teen was surprised when it wasn’t shoved down his mouth like last time. Instead, his pa merely sighed before putting the glass to the side before reaching into his pocket to bring out something else.

“Your ma’s ring,” He said, a hint of melancholy in his voice as he looked down and fiddled with it, “I still keep it on me. Keeps her close, y’know?”

Arthur noticed that the man seemed insistent on keeping his gaze away, instead choosing to look at the silver ring with confliction, as if he was trying to blame this whole messy situation on the piece of jewellery.

He remembered coming across it in the camp, the confusion followed by the sheer panic that hit him like a horse kick. Now, all he felt was anger. Angry that the only one who had ever truly loved him and took care of him had been killed off so cruelly, and now the very man that had killed her was now handling her ring with such tenderness and love that made him look like the goddamn victim in all this.

The chains rattled slightly as Arthur’s body shook furiously, he tried to calm himself down, had to starkly remind himself of what would happen if he attacked again.

Did…did he really care anymore? He was going to die anyway.

“We can…we can still be a family.”

Everything seemed to stop as, for the first time in his life, Arthur dared to glance up into his dad’s eyes. This should have been met with outrage and fury, death threats and a beating down, but he was met with none of those things.

There was nothing but fondness and love in the older man’s expression, and for a moment, Arthur could have sworn he was looking at Hosea instead.

Another hallucination.

 His father _was_ smiling at him though, he looked almost…like a proud parent.

“Remember when you was just a little babe a-and your momma showed you your first horse? She and you rode it together, you remember that?”

Of course he couldn’t remember, but he remembered the tales his mother used to tell him about the things they had done together. All the happy memories that he couldn’t recall.

All the happy memories that hadn’t involved… _him._

“What say you, my boy? Let’s be a family again,” There was something desperate in his voice, almost as if he was pleading, “You, me…your momma.”

Arthur wanted to say yes. He so very wanted to say yes and be rid of these awful shackles, to fall into his father’s arms and be embraced like a father and son should have. He wanted to go hunting, learn how to shoot, to be presented with his first horse to call his own, to sit by the campfire and have his first beer with him.

However, he had already done all those things. It was Hosea who had taught him to hunt and shoot, it was Dutch who had presented him with his first horse and gave him his first beer, albeit begrudgingly on both Hosea’s and Arthur’s part.

Although he had only spent about a month with them, that time was worth far more than the fourteen years he had spent with his own flesh and blood.

“No.”

The single word had just slipped out between his lips with no warning whatsoever, his tired, dulled eyes still looking up defiantly. He watched silently as his father’s soft expression turned into a slightly dazed one, as if he quite couldn’t believe what he had heard.

“…I’m sorry?”

“No.”

“…No?”

_“No!”_

Arthur couldn’t help but scream the word at him, angrily desperate to get it through his thick skull that he didn’t _want_ to be a part of this sick, twisted family. Not anymore.

As if it somehow worked, the old, grizzled man slowly nodded before looking back down to the ring again, turning it over in his dirt-stained hands as he stood up before letting out a hearty chuckle, one that sounded far too amused.

“Well then,” He started, “Guess I’ll need to teach you the value of family, won’t I?”

Without warning, he delivered a swift kick to Arthur’s stomach, forcing the boy to double over with a pitiful cry.

His father tutted before bending over to put a hand on his son’s head, curling his fingers to tightly grasp at his hair, “Doesn’t take much to get you squirming-“

Before Arthur could stop himself, he lashed out with a powerful kick of his own, managing to clip one of his father’s knees, sending the older man crashing to the ground with a pained shout of his own.

The teen knew he should have just buckled under and took the punishment, but he was just downright _sick_ of it. If he was going to die in this rotting hell of a house, he was going to die fighting.

“Oh, you little piece of _shit_.”

As he slowly managed to get up, Arthur noted that he was clutching his back, rather than the knee that he had just kicked. Blood was seeping through his fingers, much to both the teen’s delight and utter horror.

The knife wound.

Arthur had completely forgotten about it, his father had looked perfectly…well, not fine exactly but he hardly looked like he was in the pain that he should have been in. Especially if he hadn’t had the proper medical care he needed, which, by the state he was in, was obvious.

He had never seen the man so helpless before in his life, he was usually so domineering and aggressive that it was…strange to see him like this, his face screwed up and his teeth clenched in pain as he struggled to get back up.

Arthur would have taken this rare chance and bolted, if it weren’t for the chain. Though he doubted he would have gotten far in his own sorry state.

“Y-you’re…a lucky son of a bitch…you know that?” The older man wheezed.

The boy narrowed his eyes at those choice of words.

“But when I get back...you best start sayin’ your prayers. You’ll need ‘em.”

With that ominous threat, he stumbled towards the door before crashing into it with a strangled cry. Arthur nearly jumped up, a small instinct inside him wanting to help his pa, tend to the wound himself and get him the medical treatment that he clearly needed.

Yet another part of him wanted to kick him down again, laugh at him while he struggled, stick and twist the knife into him to finish the job off this time, very slowly.

But Arthur couldn’t do either, so he merely watched as the man strained to get the door open before slamming it shut, heavy footsteps echoed down the hall before silence engulfed the house once again.

The boy went back to aimlessly staring at the wall again while his emotions and morals conflicted with each other, his only source of comfort the dappled moonlight that shone through the cracks in the roof, at least giving him a little sense of time. Not that he had much of it left now.

He wondered what Dutch and Hosea would be doing right now, sleeping peacefully into the night or having a drink by the dying campfire, planning something big again. A stagecoach robbery that wouldn’t go wrong this time.

Arthur’s lips twitched up into a smile.

  _“We want you to come with us, Arthur.”_

* * *

“How much farther, do you think?”

“Dunno, we’ll just…have to keep following the trail, I suppose.”

Dutch peered back to Hosea and frowned a little, the older man looked completely drained as he lightly kicked his horse to keep going while keeping Arthur’s horse tethered close behind him. The ginger mare had her ears folded back anxiously but complied enough to follow.

Good, they were still going the right way then.

Well, ‘good’ wasn’t exactly the right word for this kind of situation. Chasing after some stranger who had dragged Arthur away to who knows where to do who knows what.

Dutch just prayed that they weren’t too late. He would never forgive himself if-

Still, he wondered if he should have told Hosea to go back to camp while he went to get Arthur. After all, this was going to be far from an easy task and there would more than likely be a fight on their hands. He couldn’t let Hosea get hurt again.

“Don’t.”

“Huh?”

Dutch snapped out of his daze and looked over his shoulder, only to find his partner in crime glaring daggers at him, albeit with a small smirk.

“Stop looking at me like I’m some sort of charity case, I said I’m fine.”

“But-“

“And don’t even think about sending me back to camp. We’re _both_ saving that kid.”

Well. That settled that then.

“I can’t deny you, can I?” Dutch asked with a gruff laugh.

“No, you can’t.” Hosea replied with a small chuckle of his own.

At least their small exchange had managed to lighten the mood somewhat. Even if only a little.

They continued to ride in silence through the night, following the tracks with the moonlight as their only source of light. Though soon it would have to be morning, due to the birds starting to bring song to the quiet air, the start of the dawn chorus.

Dutch spurred his horse on a little faster.

“Do you think he’s alright?” He suddenly blurted out, not meaning for his voice to sound so unsure.

The beat of silence did nothing to console his insecurities.

“He will be. When we get to him.” Was the only reply Hosea seemed to come up with, not sounding so confident himself.

A few panicked snorts and grunts from all three of their horses brought their attention to the forest path finally bringing them to a clearing of sorts, with what looked like some sort of run-down house tucked neatly into the trees.

A perfect spot for someone who didn’t want to be found.

“This must be it.” Dutch said, earning a curt nod from Hosea.

“Let’s hitch the horses here, they’re getting a little spooked.” The older man replied, dismounting from his twitching steed.

It couldn’t be helped, there was a foreboding atmosphere lurking in the area and the horses could strongly sense the danger, they were likely to bolt soon.

“Good idea.” Was all Dutch could manage to say as he tied The Count to a tree, giving him a reassuring pat before joining Hosea.

“The tracks are leading around to the side of that house,” Hosea noted before crouching down, “Keep low, someone could still be in there.”

Dutch nodded and complied, reluctantly letting Hosea take the lead.

Eventually, the tracks led up to what could only be described as the most miserable sight of an animal they had ever seen.

“Jesus,” Hosea whispered as his expression screwed into one of disgust, “Who treats their horse like this…?”

The old, battered down nag was tightly tied up to a post, the rope digging into the skin around its neck. It’s mane and tail were matted beyond any help of a brush and its skinny frame was littered in scars and bruises. Poor thing looked half-dead.

It didn’t even so much as twitch when Hosea laid a hand on its muzzle before he glanced at Dutch.

“Oh, c’mon Hosea…!” Dutch whispered in frustration, “We’re here to save Arthur, not the damn horse.”

Don’t get him wrong, he had sympathy for the beast, and he was always furious at anyone who would dare to mistreat a horse but every second spent here put them and, more importantly, Arthur in more danger.

“Let’s cut it free, at least,” Hosea argued, “Let it die in peace somewhere other than here.”

“Oh, for the love of- Fine. Ok.” Dutch could sometimes curse his friend’s bleeding heart.

The younger man pulled out his knife and quickly cut through the rope before giving the horse a light smack to get it on its way without disturbing whoever was still around. It didn’t seem to be much of a problem though as it didn’t really seem to have the energy to rear and gallop away, choosing instead to just walk into the woods at its own pace.

“Happy now?” Dutch sarcastically asked, earning an unamused look from Hosea.

“Hardly,” He replied, before risking a look through one of the murky windows.

“You uh… see anything?” Dutch was almost afraid of the answer.

“…No. Hard to tell but…it’s dark. Looks empty.”

Dutch frowned anxiously, “You think…y-you think he’s in there?”

“He has to be. C’mon.”

Hosea led them both to the front of the house before crouching in front of the door. He lightly pushed it on the off chance that it might be open, which to both their surprise, it did.

The door creaked open to reveal a dark and murky hallway, an overpowering stench hitting both men instantly.

It reeked of…something terrible.

“I’ll go in first,” Hosea said, unholstering his gun, “Cover my back.”

“What? No!” Dutch argued, still making sure to keep his voice down, “Are you insane? I’ll go first.”

“No way,” The older man held out his arm, preventing Dutch from getting in front, “I _need_ you to cover my back.” He knew Dutch didn’t like to be undermined, but right now he really didn’t care. The last thing they needed was to go in guns blazing, Hosea much preferred the quieter route.

“But your-“

“But nothing. We’re doing this my way, alright?”

Hosea didn’t even wait for an answer as he took his first steps into the run-down house, making sure to place his steps carefully to avoid any of the rotting floorboards. Dutch appeared to be doing the same as they moved through the hallway in complete silence.

It was difficult for them to see in the complete dark without any kind of lantern, but they managed to make their way through the different rooms, checking every nook and cranny for anything they could find.

But alas, there wasn’t any sign of Arthur _or_ his kidnapper.

“Ain’t nobody here, Hosea.” Dutch said with a heavy tone as he searched a cupboard for anything they could bag, only to be met with a plume of dust and grime, almost making him choke. He longed for some fresh air, despite only having been in here for just a few minutes.

“Hosea?” He tried again, when he got no reply.

Dutch looked over his shoulder to see Hosea standing at what looked like a fireplace of sorts, or what used to be one. It was littered with dusty ornaments and photo-frames, one of which Hosea seemed to be intently focused on.

“You found something there?” Dutch tentatively asked as he made his way over to his friend, looking over his shoulder to see what he was looking at.

It was one of the photo-frames, the glass looked like it had been smashed and the dirt that covered it made it hard to see the photo. Hosea gently took it out and dusted it down, allowing them both a better look.

It was a family, a young couple and their baby, couldn’t have been more than a couple of months old. The father looked like the rough type that Hosea and Dutch would often see at the saloon, the sort that would start a drunken fight at the drop of a hat.

The mother was a pretty little thing, though her smile was clearly strained.

Then there was the baby, a chubby little bundle of joy, looking so admirably up at his mother. His fair hair and wide, bright eyes brought about a sudden pain in both men’s chests.

“You…” Hosea started, his hands shaking the photo slightly, “You don’t think…?”

Dutch didn’t even need to hear the question to know what he was thinking.

“Nah, it…it can’t be. Probably just… coincidence.” Dutch said, awkwardly brushing off the idea.

Hosea said nothing more about it.

“Let’s split up, search again,” Dutch ordered, before adding, “If you find him or anything happens, holler.”

“You got it, boss.” Hosea replied with a small grin, trying to lighten this dire mood.

The younger man gave him an unamused smile back, at least it was something.

Hosea took to the kitchen while Dutch looked around the hallway again, determined not to miss a single clue that could lead them to their boy. Though he was seriously beginning to doubt that the lad was even here, maybe they had taken a wrong turn back in the woods…

Something caught his eye, a wardrobe that had been knocked over into a dark corner at the back of the hallway, but there was something about it that wasn’t quite…right.

There was no way that it could have just fallen over naturally like this, it was too neatly stacked. No, this had been placed here.

Dutch quietly considered calling for Hosea for some help to move the massive piece of furniture but immediately decided against it. He didn’t want to further injure that shoulder of his for what could be another dead end.

With a struggling grunt, he barely managed to shove the wardrobe aside without making too much noise, revealing a door hidden behind it.

_‘This has to be it,’_ He gleefully thought as he turned the handle, _‘He has to be in here.’_

However, the door wouldn’t budge no matter how hard he jiggled the handle or pushed the door.

“Arthur,” Dutch frantically whispered as he tried again, “Arthur, you in there? Answer me son.”

It was dreadfully quiet, but he swore he could hear something shuffle inside the room alongside a small whimper, it sounded young. There was no doubt that there was a child in there.

He had to get this door down, damn whatever noise he made.

“Hang on!” He shouted through the door as he took a few steps backwards, “Stand back, I’m breaking this door down!”

With a few well-placed kicks, Dutch nearly took the door of its hinges before quickly stepping into the dimly lit room, having to squint his eyes just to be able to see.

What he was able to look at through the dark, musty air was nothing short of horrific. The room was lined with rustic chains and splattered with dark, aged blood and…fresh…

The little droplets of crimson led to the back of the room, where there was a well-hidden figure bundled up in the far corner, shaking like a leaf. The vibrations rattling the chains that seemed to be holding them.

_‘No…it…it can’t be…’_

“Arthur…?” Dutch called out gently, taking tentative steps, “Son, is that you?”

A pair of wide eyes suddenly looked up at him. Bright, blue and terrified.

It was him.

“…No…” Arthur’s voice was small, quiet and wary. Frighteningly akin to the day they had met him, “Please don’t…not again…”

The small figure seemed to shrink even further into the wall as Dutch got closer to him before kneeling down to get a closer look.

“Son, it’s ok,” Dutch gently reassured as he reached out a hand, only to have it smacked back as Arthur shrivelled away from the touch, “We have to get you out of here.”

“…No…you’re not…them…” The teen rasped out as he curled in on himself, “…You’re not…anything…”

“Arthur, look at me.” He tried again, “It’s only old Dutch. Hosea’s here too and…oh, son we’ve been so worried about you.”

He couldn’t hide the relief in his voice, but he was also so heartbroken at the poor sight before him. He couldn’t imagine the things Arthur had been through the past few hours, and what he would have had to endure should they have decided to leave just a few minutes earlier.

The thought nearly ripped his heart apart.

“You’re…you’re not real…y-you’re n…not…”

“It’s ok,” Dutch reached out again into the darkness, he felt something soft and fuzzy flinch against his hand, and started to gently stroke it, “You’re ok…”

As he petted Arthur’s head, he felt a smaller hand tentatively touch his own before grasping it. It caught the young man by surprise, but he didn’t fight against it, letting Arthur turn it over and feel for the rings around his fingers before abruptly stopping.

“D…D-Dutch…?” Arthur whispered, as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.

“I’m here, son. I’m right here.”

Dutch suddenly felt something pummel into him, sending him crashing to the ground as Arthur wrapped his arms tightly around him enough to squeeze the life out of him. He didn’t care though, as he embraced the boy with the same vigour, though still gently enough as to not hurt him.

The pang in his chest was still there, but now it was over washed with relief and a new adoration for the child now in his arms, he wanted to cry out of sheer solace.

Dutch had to wonder again if this was what a parent would have felt like.

“You’re alright, Arthur…” He whispered as he held the young teen in his lap, running a hand through his hair again in an attempt to console him.

“It’s-It’s…really…It’s really you…!” Arthur managed to get out between sobs, burying his head deeper into Dutch’s chest.

“It’s really me, son…” He said back in soft reassurance before shifting his hold on him, “C’mon, let’s get a look at you.”

As Dutch tilted Arthur’s chin up, he had to hold the urge to storm out of the room there and then and brutally murder whoever had the audacity to hurt a child like this.

Arthur was covered in scratches, bruises, his nose was bloodied and bent at an awkward angle, more than likely broken. There were smears of blood and old vomit down his shirt, he couldn’t imagine…

“Oh Arthur,” Was all Dutch could say as he stroked his thumb over the boy’s cheek before embracing him again, “I am…so, _so_ sorry.”

Arthur leaned into the touch for a few moments longer, thanking whatever was out there for letting his punishment finally end.

Wait.

His eyes suddenly widened as he grabbed at Dutch’s vest frantically, startling the man.

“Arthur, what’s-“

“We…we have to get outta here…before…he…he comes back! Right now! C-cut me down, shoot the chain!”

“Son, hang on,” Dutch said as he tried to calm Arthur down.

“Right now! Please! I can’t-!”

“Ok… _ok_ …” Dutch steadied the panicking lad before pulling out his gun, aiming with a steady hand, “Just stay still for me.”

A shot rang out as the bullet hit the chain, cutting through it easily.

“Hosea!” Dutch called out as he caught Arthur, pulling his shaking body up, “Hosea, I’ve got Arthur!”

It wasn’t even a few seconds before the older man came rushing in, gun in hand.

“What was the gunshot for?!” Hosea frantically asked before he set his sights on Arthur, rushing over to the boy and checking over him, “Jesus, son what happened to you? Who did this?”

“Hosea…” Was all managed Arthur managed to blubber out before he leaned into him, embracing him, “You’re here too…”

“Of course I’m here, my boy,” Hosea said as he gently cupped Arthur’s bruised face, brushing away the tears that streamed down his cheeks, “I am _never_ leaving you again, you understand?”

Arthur only nodded, clutching onto him like a lifeline. Hosea returned the gesture.

“C’mon,” Dutch urged as he took one of Arthur’s arms, Hosea taking the other as they left the room and made their way down the hallway to the front door, “We should get outta here before whatever lunatic who did this comes back.”

Dutch silently admitted to himself that he wanted the guy to come back, only so he could fill his face with bullet holes.

It seemed his wish came true, as a lone figure suddenly blocked the door, stopping all three of them in their tracks. The man looked down at Arthur with…almost amusement, before turning his attention to Hosea and Dutch.

“Where do y’all think you’re goin’ with my son?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reunions never last long do they? :)
> 
> Apologies again for the longer wait! Life gets in the way but I'm still writing! 
> 
> All y'all's comments are what keeps me spurred on, thanks a bunch!


	7. Chapter 7

“Where do y’all think you’re goin’ with my son?”

To say Arthur was scared right now would have been a severe understatement, he was absolutely _petrified_. Time seemed to come to a stand-still, and the only thing he could do was stare in utter horror while clinging to Hosea and Dutch with a numb grip.

“So, you’re the bastard that’s been doin’ this to him?” Dutch growled, making sure to put Arthur behind him, shielding him away from the other man’s view.

“You’re his goddamn _father?”_ Hosea asked, completely baffled, “The hell kind of parent does that to their own fucking child?!”

It was incredibly rare for Hosea to ever get this angry. Arthur had never really even seen this side of him before and he had hoped that he never would have had to. But right now, it was completely justified.

Arthur’s father didn’t say anything but seemed to be intently staring at Dutch.

“I’ve seen you before.” He suddenly said, taking all three of them aback.

“…Excuse me?” Dutch asked with a frown, growing increasingly uncomfortable with where this was going. He had never seen this man before, how on earth did he know him?

“Your face is on all them wanted posters. Dutch van der linde, right?”

Ah. That would explain it.

“Who the hell wants to know?” He and Hosea shared a worried glance as this strange situation continued to confuse them, still mindful of keeping Arthur behind them.

“Lyle Morgan, sir,” He said as he took an eager step forward, “Seems you got a big price on your head.”

They all knew where this was going.

“Now, I could be a good citizen and hand you in,” Lyle slowly pulled out his gun, “Kill your friend there, get my son back and get a nice stack of cash to boot.”

Dutch almost scoffed at the arrogance of this guy. He was clearly outnumbered and still had the gall to try blackmailing them.

“Or…you hand me my son back and I’ll let y’all go. Easy as that.”

Dutch and Hosea could feel Arthur’s grip on their shirts get even tighter, so much so that his fists started to shake terribly. A silent plea that begged them not to let him go back.

Hosea put a hand on Arthur’s head to quietly console him while Dutch narrowed his eyes, as if he was somehow pondering it over.

“A tempting offer, Mr. Morgan,” The younger man started, almost earning a killing glare from Hosea, “But I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“ _We_ can’t do that,” Hosea corrected, flashing a quick but grateful smile to Dutch before glaring at Lyle again, “Now get out of our way, or we’ll kill you.” He said, calmly but firmly.

“Oh, come on now,” Lyle said, putting his hands up as if in surrender, though he still had a grip on his gun, showing that he wasn’t about to give up so easily himself.

“Is that l’il runt really worth all this trouble, gents? Why you even got him tagging along with ya? Look at him, he’s useless.”

Normally, Arthur would have been shaken by those words, he would have been worried that Hosea and Dutch would agree and just hand him over to his fate to avoid risking their own lives. Not that he would have blamed them.

However, he knew now, without a doubt, that there was no way they would give him up so easily, they had already risked life and limb just to find him, even after he had failed them so miserably with the stagecoach mess.

 Even after he had nearly gotten Hosea killed.

If they got out of this alive, Arthur was going to spend the rest of his life making it up to them.

“If this ‘runt’ really isn’t worth the trouble, then you’ll let us go.” Dutch countered smugly.

“Now I can’t do that,” Lyle said, sparing a quick glance to his boy still hiding behind the two men, “His momma’s waitin’ for the both of us.”

Now this caught them off guard, hadn’t Arthur said that both his parents were dead? Granted, they were staring at one of them right now but…

Dutch looked down at Arthur with a raised eyebrow, about to question him until he saw just how petrified he really was. His skin had taken on a sickly pale complexion, as if all the colour had suddenly drained from his face. Tears streamed from his wide, blue eyes as he stared ahead.

“She’s…s-she’s…dead. She is…sh-” Arthur stuttered out, unable to really string a full sentence together.

Hosea consoled him once again while Dutch turned back to Lyle, eyeing the pistol still in his hand and putting two and two together.

“You’re a _sick_ bastard.” He snarled, hand twitching over his own gun, desperate to put a bullet into this monster.

“Son,” Lyle started, completely ignoring Dutch’s remark, “Son, I was thinking and…I know now that we can’t be a family like this. Not without her…”

He took out his wife’s ring and held it out towards Arthur, who stared at it from behind Hosea.

“But I was talkin’ to her and…she wants to see you again. We can be with her again,” He dropped his voice to a whisper as he held his pistol with a shaky hand, “J-just one l’il pinprick in the head and…and we’ll be a proper family again. What do you say, my boy?”

Arthur couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing right now, his pa was…he wanted to…? The teen knew now that his old man had really and truly lost his mind.

The saddest part was that once upon a time, Arthur would have just agreed to such a request. Desperate to see his mother again, to be rid of the constant pain that life seemed to keep throwing at him.

But now he had a chance to turn things around, now he had a reason to keep fighting, now he had two men that were willing to put their lives on the line for his.

He had…parents, again.

And Lyle wasn’t one of them.

Arthur slowly and silently shook his head with a new confidence that surged through his entire body, much to Lyle’s dismay.

“Y-you…won’t…? But your momma…” Lyle stammered, unable to keep a steady front as he furiously threw down the ring, which shattered upon impact.

“ _Goddamnit!”_ The older man screamed before pointing the gun at his son, startling all three of them, “We was _supposed_ to be a family! Why…why would you betray us like this?!”

As soon as the anger came, it had disappeared again, being replaced with grief instead as he suddenly crashed to his knees and covered his face with his hands, sobbing into them.

“My boy…my beautiful boy…why…?”

Dutch and Hosea were at a complete loss as to what to do, they were dealing with someone that was clearly mentally unhinged, wielding a gun and wanting to kill his own son. They both knew that any form of negotiation had been completely thrown out of the window.

They could feel Arthur shaking even harder than before, they knew they needed to get him away from this man and get him the medical treatment he so desperately needed, and quickly.

With no other options, Dutch and Hosea pulled out their guns on the weeping man.

“We’re giving you one more chance to get out of our way,” Hosea threatened, “We don’t _want_ to shoot you, for Arthur’s sake, but we will if we have to.”

“Speak for yourself.” Dutch blurted out, earning a confused look from his partner.

“What?”

Before he could stop himself, Dutch was moving towards Lyle with malicious intent, aiming his gun down at his head as the old man kept his gaze down, looking utterly pathetic.

Hosea moved to cover Arthur behind his body as half of his protection was gone now, leaving them both vulnerable.

“Dutch, what the hell are you-?”

“Why _shouldn’t_ we just kill you right here and now? Piece of filth like you don’t even deserve to live.” Dutch sneered, pushing the barrel of the gun down onto Lyle’s head, cocking the hammer before moving his finger to the trigger.

“What kind of father…does… _that_ to their own goddamn child?”

When he got no answer, he struck Lyle’s temple with newfound aggression.

_“Answer me!”_

Dutch had never really…felt anger quite like this before in his life. He sometimes had a short temper but…nothing like this. He could feel the heat of it surging through his entire body and never relenting, even when he could hear the faintest whimper sound out from behind him.

“He’s…he’s my son…” Was all Lyle seemed to be able to stutter out.

_“That’s_ your reason?” Dutch replied with a bark of laughter, though it was more in disbelief, rather than amusement, “You really are the scourge of the earth.”

As he prepared to pull the trigger once again, a small tug on the back of his vest forced him to stop and look behind him, only to see Arthur giving him a pleading look, Hosea only a few paces behind him.

“Please…don’t.”

Those two words, spoken so softly, broke through Dutch’s haze of red and compelled him enough to slowly lower his gun. Arthur had been through enough, and he didn’t want to expose the boy to any more bloodshed that he didn’t wish or need to see.

He would push his unrelenting rage to the side, for now.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” Dutch meekly apologised, putting a hand on his head, “We’re gonna go home now, get you fixed up, ok?”

As Hosea put his hands around Arthur’s shoulders to steadily walk him towards the horses, Dutch turned back to the obstacle still in their way.

“You’re a lucky bastard to have a son like him, even after everything you’ve done,” The younger man said with a bitter tone, “Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”

“No.” Was the curt reply.

“Excuse me?”

“If we can’t have him…”

“Mr. Morgan, I am _warning_ you-“

“Then nobody can.”

Lyle moved quicker than any of them could react, shooting wildly into the dark corridor as Dutch shouted for everyone to get to cover. The bullets bounced and struck the walls, but luckily none managed to hit flesh as the trio dashed into one of the rooms, hunkering down in the darkness.

“Well,” Hosea started, a little too calmly, “Suppose it was wishful thinking to get out of this without a fight.”

“You ain’t fighting,” Dutch starkly replied as he stopped Hosea from readying his gun, “Stay with Arthur, I’ll deal with this crazy son of a bitch.”

“Just try and stop me.”

“Hosea…” Dutch tried being a little calmer in his approach as he gestured to Arthur, “Hosea, look at him.”

As the older man turned, he could see what Dutch was referring to. Arthur seemed completely out of it, frozen but visibly trembling and taking in hitched breaths as he stared around him with those big eyes of his.

It was a painful reminder of the stagecoach.

“You stay here with him and keep him calm,” Dutch reiterated before taking Arthur by the shoulder himself, “Son, I’m so sorry, I hope…” He swallowed a dry lump down his throat, “I hope you can forgive me for what I’m about to do.”

It was slight, but he got a nod from the boy. It would have to do.

“Go. I’ll keep him safe.” Hosea reassured, keeping Arthur close to him as they kept behind cover.

The house was silent as Dutch crept towards the hall, risking a peep around the doorway to see that the entrance to the house was now open to them, it wasn’t worth the risk to make a run for it though, especially with Arthur’s weakened state.

To further prove his point, a bullet whizzed past him, burying itself and splintering into the wood instead.

“You’re not taking our son away from us!” Lyle’s voice echoed through the house, making it difficult to pin-point where he was.

“He ain’t your son!” Dutch shouted back, using his well-trained eyes to detect any kind of movement, though it was nearly impossible with how damn dark it was.

There was a flicker of…something that caught the corner of his eye, was it just a rat? A shadow? His own imagination playing tricks on him? Dutch didn’t care, he wasn’t going to take any chances. If it moved, it died.

He aimed and took the shot, the gunfire illuminating the whole house for a few brief seconds, allowing him to spot Arthur’s father ducking behind a table from the bullets that flew wildly around the room.

_‘Gotcha.’_ Dutch thought with a smug grin.

“I’m gonna give you one more chance,” He offered as he entered the doorway, keeping his pistol trained on where Lyle was hiding, “If only for the boy’s sake.”

There was a long beat of silence before he got an answer, though it wasn’t the one he quite expected.

“You can’t…take him away f-from us…please…he’s our son…you can’t…” Lyle murmured, his voice distraught with sorrow, it was completely unnerving to listen to.

“He needs….he…he n-needs..”

“Arthur needs nothing from the likes of you,” Dutch finished for him, “What he _needs_ is medical attention from what _you_ did to him.”

Something seemed to spark inside Lyle’s head as he slowly rose from his hiding position with his hands up, gun slipping from his grip as it clattered to the ground. Dutch took no chances and kicked the weapon away, all the while keeping a close eye on the older man. He didn’t trust this.

“I…I love my boy…our boy…” Lyle mumbled, his expression screwing up into something like grief, it was hard to tell, really.

“If you… love him,” Dutch could feel the words leave a bad taste in his mouth, he couldn’t believe what twisted love a vile monster like him could feel.

He pressed the gun onto his head once again, “Let. Him. Go.”

“I ca…I can- agh…!”

Lyle clenched his eyes shut and groaned in pain as he suddenly reached for his back.

The unexpected movement nearly startled Dutch into shooting, out of fear that he was maybe reaching for a hidden knife but stopped himself when he saw crimson seeping through Lyle’s fingers. It appeared to be that some sort of fresh wound had re-opened, probably during their gunfight.

Dutch had to wonder if Arthur had injured him, not that he would have blamed him.

Now he was faced with a sort of dilemma. On the one hand, this was their chance to safely get out and get Arthur to a doctor. On the other…would Arthur be alright with that? Leaving his injured father to die a slow and painful death in this shithole of a house?

Dutch would have been perfectly fine with it, but Arthur was…he was different.

He could just shoot the man right here and now and say it was a fair fight but…something about that made his stomach tightly knot. He had done enough injustice to that poor boy; he didn’t want to add lying to him on the ever-growing list as well.

So, what was he supposed to do?

 “Listen, here's some cash, “ Dutch begrudgingly counted out a few notes before chucking it down to Lyle’s feet, “You let us go and use that to get yourself fixed up, get to a doctor, spend it on booze, I really don’t care. Just leave Arthur the hell alone and let us leave. “

As Lyle hungrily eyed the money that was laid out before him, Dutch merely grunted in disgust as he holstered his gun and turned to get Arthur and Hosea, finally ready to get out of this god awful place.

He didn't even have time to register the pain that hit him in the back as a force crashed him into the floor, knocking the wind out of his body.

_“You're not taking him away from us!! “_

Completely dazed, Dutch just about managed to pull his gun out before firing, but it was to no avail as the bullet missed its target by a long shot. He could feel the gun get ripped out from his hand, the barrel pressing into the back of his head.

He struggled and fought against the weight that had him pinned down. The old bastard was incredibly powerful for someone with a critical injury. It almost put Dutch to shame.

 “You ain't takin’ him... “

 “L-look,” Dutch wheezed out as his face was pressed into the rotting wood, making it incredibly difficult to breathe, “We can...talk about this...like civilised men... “

No amount of charisma or charm was going to save him now.

 “You ain't his pa-“

The weight that crushed Dutch down had lifted as quickly as it had come, struggling grunts and a few loud bangs echoed through the dark room. The younger man couldn’t make out a thing as he tried to get to his hands and knees, but he could already tell who had intervened.

 “Hosea, what the _hell_ are you doing...?!” He coughed out as he saw the two dark shapes grapple each other.

Hosea didn’t get much of a chance to answer as Lyle shoved into his barely healing shoulder, the wound easily reopening upon impact, forcing him to clutch it as warm blood seeped through his bandage.

Lyle saw his opportunity and took it, pushing Hosea to the ground before drawing his gun onto him.

“ _No!_ ” Dutch screamed, “It’s me you want, I’m the one that wants to take your son away, remember?!” He said, desperate to get the attention away from Hosea.

It worked, as Lyle sneered before turning his gun back onto the younger man, forcing him to look down the barrel.

“I know you both want him for yourselves, but I can’t let that happen. He’s my goddamn son. He’s _our_ son, ain’t that right darlin’?” He asked nobody in particular, though he seemed to be intently looking at the empty space next to him.

“Yeah, you’re right. We should kill the loud-mouthed one first, you’re the one that’s been poisoning him, ain’t ya?”

“I-“

Dutch didn’t even get a chance to say anything as Lyle cocked the gun with a malicious grin, he quickly glanced at Hosea’s horrified face and gave him a warm smile. It wasn’t quite how he imagined saying goodbye to him, so unceremoniously, but it was better than nothing.

They both flinched as a bang rang out.

Dutch was surprised when he felt nothing at all, no pain or impact from the bullet, he figured it must have been the adrenaline still running through his body.

Still, he should have at least blacked out by now.

Something warm dripped onto his face, blood no doubt. Perhaps dripping from his gaping head wound. However, as he reached up, there was nothing there. No headshot wound, no bullet, nothing. Just a droplet of blood.

As he looked up, he instantly noticed that Lyle’s shit-eating grin had been wiped from his face, being replaced with an expression of fear, horror and…almost betrayal as he gazed down at the widened, crimson-stained hole in his chest.

The older man slowly turned his head before losing strength in his legs, crashing to the floor with a thud. Thus, revealing Arthur behind him, holding a smoking pistol. There was no emotion about him at all, his face stone-cold as he watched his father bleed out on the floor before him.

“Ar…Arth…ur…?” Lyle rasped out, taking strained breaths as the scarlet hole in his chest seemed to widen with every rise and fall, “We’re…I…I-I’m…I’m proud of y-you, son. Y-you’ll be a better…b-better….”

Lyle Morgan took his last breath before he could even finish.

Long seconds turned into minutes as Arthur stared down at his pa’s corpse before finally dropping the gun and falling to his knees, completely dazed as to what had just happened.

He couldn’t believe it. That was it, after years of…

It was over. His family was gone.

The young boy didn’t even flinch when he felt a hand firmly but gently grasp his shoulder, snapping him out of his stunned state as he slowly blinked and looked up, his eyes meeting Hosea’s. He felt a weight upon his other shoulder and gazed up at Dutch before his eyes dwindled back down to the corpse before him.

“I…I-“

His mouth couldn’t even begin to form the right words to excuse what he had done, hot tears streamed from his eyes as he felt his chest finally burst. All those feelings he had over the years, good and bad, all the memories, the pain, the joy, the misery.

Arthur sobbed uncontrollably in utter relief from it all.

He was embraced from both sides, cocooned in warmth, soft words and the promise that everything was going to be alright as he was gently rocked back and forth between Dutch and Hosea. Arthur tried his best to apologise for everything, for failing them, for running away, for causing them so much grief.

Though his words were a garbled mess, they understood what he was trying to say.

“Don’t you apologise for nothin’, son.” Dutch reassured him, running a hand through his hair, “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“That was a brave thing you did, Arthur. We’re not letting anything like that happen to you _ever_ again, you hear me?” Hosea added as he cupped the boy’s face and brushed the never-ending flow of tears, “We promise you.”

Arthur knew they couldn’t keep a promise like that, but he didn’t care as he merely nodded and leaned himself into their touch, grateful for his second chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyyy the shit stain that is Lyle is dead, happy ending! Still got one more chapter to go though, so stay tuned and tell me what y'all think! :D
> 
> P.S Sorry for any spelling errors, it's 2am over here, bleh


	8. Chapter 8

“Arthur! You ready to get goin’? Fish won’t catch themselves.”

“Nearly, just need to get a few more things together. Won’t be long.”

Arthur glanced up as Hosea nodded and left him to it for a few more minutes. He never really got what the appeal of fishing was, just standing there for hours doing nothing while the day wasted away. Still, he understood that the food supply was running low.

He and Hosea were still recovering from their injuries to go out and hunt deer and well…they had all agreed that Dutch was next to useless when it came to hunting anything, so they settled on fishing for their next meal.

It had been a few weeks since…that unfortunate event. Luckily, they were all making a fast recovery in a physical sense. However, mental recovery was much slower, especially for Arthur.

The first few nights had him waking up from night terrors, resulting in all three of them only getting a few hours of sleep between them as Hosea and Dutch would have to wake up to calm him down each and every night. Arthur tried to apologise to them again and again, but they would have none of it, telling him that everything was fine.

He was getting better though. Stronger. He could _feel_ it.

His eyes glanced down at the black, leather gambler’s hat that laid next to his cot before picking it up and staring at it with a small frown. Arthur turned it over to look inside, he swore he could feel a slight palpitation in his chest as he read the initials that had been hastily scribbled inside.

_L.M_

Arthur didn’t know why he had felt compelled to take the hat from the house just after shooting his pa, maybe it had been guilt. Guilt that would probably follow him for the rest of his life.

Then again, why _should_ he feel guilty?

If he hadn’t shot him then he himself would have been dead, along with Dutch and Hosea, then the bastard probably would have killed himself anyway. Arthur knew he done the right thing; he had saved the ones that truly cared for him.

Then… why did it still hurt?

Arthur frowned at the hat again, as if it was really the one at fault. It was far too big for him anyway, so he should probably just throw it away, get rid of it. Burn it. Shoot it. Rip it to shreds.

Yet he still couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Sighing in frustration, he put the hat to the side before focusing on something a little more bittersweet, his mother’s ring, as well as a photograph of her that he managed to snag from the house as well. The only happy memory to come out of that hellish place.

The ring had been shattered when Lyle had thrown it to the ground, but Arthur was determined to somehow piece it back together, though he didn’t know how. Maybe he could ask Hosea, he was always good when it came to repairing stuff.

Arthur picked up the photo and brushed the thin layer of dust away with his thumb, smiling a little when he saw her face, she looked so happy and care-free. No ominous shadow behind her or oppressive hand on her shoulder, forcing her to smile.

He hoped she was like that now, wherever she was. Without…him.

“Arthur? You alright there, son?”

The young boy was snapped out of his thoughts as he looked up to Dutch, who approached a little too casually with his arms behind his back, clearly hiding something.

As curious as Arthur was, he didn’t question it. He had learned the hard way that it was rude to stick his nose into other people’s business.

“I’m fine,” He answered with a small smile, pushing his possessions aside as Dutch took a seat next to him.

“You sure?” Dutch pressed, not hiding the concern in his tone very well, “You know you can talk to-“

“I know,” Arthur cut in, “I’m fine, really. Just…getting ready.”

“I see, so uh…where’s your rod?”

Ah, damn it.

“It’s around,” The teen said as he quickly looked around, losing his facade quickly, “Somewhere.”

Dutch could only chuckle as Arthur frantically overturned his cot and rummaged through his messy pile of clothes while on his search for the darn thing.

“Well, look,” The young man started as he placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, stopping the boy as he looked up with a sheepish expression, “How’s about me and Hosea have a look around for it while you open this?”

The boy’s face turned into one of surprise as he was presented with a small, wooden box with a bright red ribbon decorating it, tied into a neat bow.

“What…what is it?” Arthur asked with a raised eyebrow as he carefully took the box from Dutch, who merely gave him a wink and a sly grin.

“Your birthday present.”

With that, he left a baffled Arthur kneeling on the ground alone with the little box, quite unsure of what to make of it.

Today wasn’t his birthday, at least…he didn’t think it was. He had never really celebrated it as long as he could remember, his parents hadn’t ever mentioned it once to him. He had only ever even learned of the concept of a birthday from the other children during his time on the streets.

He had never really thought much of it, he never had much of a reason to celebrate getting older.

So… how on earth did Dutch and Hosea know?

Curiosity getting the better of him, Arthur carefully untied the ribbon, making sure not to rip it off needlessly. As he opened the lid, he took a peek to see what was inside.

His eyes widened in wonder as he took out a beautiful black leather book and a small bundle of pencils that accompanied it. He looked it over, opening it to reveal nothing but blank pages, primed and ready to be filled in.

A journal?

Arthur was surprised, to say the least. He would have expected something more practical from Dutch and Hosea, like a new gun or hunting knife. Something to aid them in their robberies or hunts, not that he was going to be allowed to do either for a while yet.

“You like it?”

He looked up to see Dutch and Hosea strolling towards him, missing rod in hand.

“We knew you liked drawing, so we thought you might have wanted something a bit more upmarket than old newspapers.” Hosea said with a light chuckle, Dutch following suit.

“I-I love it…” Arthur said, faltering a bit. Both men caught onto the uneasiness immediately.

“You sure? We didn’t get much of a chance to choose colours or anythin’, shop keeper was onto us as soon as we walked in.”

Dutch yelped slightly as Hosea painfully elbowed him along with a sharp look.

“You _stole_ this stuff?” Arthur asked, completely astonished.

“You idiot, he wasn’t supposed to know that.” Hosea hissed into Dutch’s ear, to which he just blatantly shrugged him off.

“You guys shouldn’t have done that…” The teen mumbled with a small frown.

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re growin’ a conscious now.” Dutch joked, earning nothing but a flat look from Hosea.

“You shouldn’t have risked your lives like that, I mean,” Arthur corrected, looking downtrodden, “Not after everything…”

Both men shared a look, stealing a book and a few pencils was like child’s play to them, they knew they were good at what they did and that no consequences would befall them from such a petty robbery.

But after everything Arthur had been through, of course he would be worried for them. They were the only family he really had now.

“Aw son, we’re sorry,” Dutch said as he took a seat on the ground next to the boy, giving his shoulder a gentle shake, “Trust old Dutch to open his big mouth, huh?”

Hosea rolled his eyes before taking a seat by Arthur’s other side, “We just wanted to get you something we thought you’d like, we don’t mean to worry you.”

“But… _I_ don’t even know when my birthday is…so how…?”

“We don’t,” Dutch bluntly replied with a shrug, “We just wanted an excuse to give you something.”

“Besides,” Hosea ruffled Arthur’s hair, making the boy snigger and playfully hit his hand away before smoothing it over again, “Everyone’s got a birthday, don’t they? Why not just make yours today?”

“I guess…” Arthur seemed to mull it over before smiling a little, “So I’m fifteen now?”

“Suppose you is!” Dutch gleefully clapped him on the shoulder again before standing up, “Arthur Morgan, fifteen years old. They grow up fast, eh Hosea?”

“They sure do,” The older man agreed with a content sigh, “You use that journal well now, y’hear? You’ve got a good talent there.”

“Thanks. I-I will. Promise.” Arthur said, blushing slightly at the compliment. He still had some getting used to this kind of lifestyle, getting unexpected gifts and praise, but he wasn’t complaining. Far from it.

“Now, c’mon. The golden hour’s almost over and this is the best time for the fish, so we better get a move on.” Hosea was quick to get to his horse, leaving Dutch and Arthur behind to catch up.

“We best do as the man says, c’mon son.” Dutch helped Arthur up before giving his head a small pat. It was a brief but pleasant exchange, Dutch’s smile was warm and fond, more importantly than that, it was genuine.

Arthur even found himself smiling back, not minding the term ‘son’ so much now, in fact it was kind of endearing.

He supposed he liked it.

* * *

“Now _that_ was a fish, you see the size of that beast?”

Hosea had been right, they had timed their catch perfectly and Arthur had managed to reel in a huge lake sturgeon, the poor boy would have nearly been dragged back under with it if the two men hadn’t helped him pull it in.

Arthur had never been one to boast or brag, but he found it hard to hide his pride when they pulled the fish in, he had felt…strong and in control. He knew it was silly but…it felt good.

Hosea was the one to gut and cook it, there was plenty to fill their bellies plus leave leftovers, which meant they could lay low for at least a few more days. Giving them more precious time to rest, recover and just…appreciate what they had.

As they sat around their small campfire, Arthur observed Dutch as he pulled out a couple of beers from a nearby crate before handing one to Hosea. Both men glanced at each other with a hint of uncertainty as they noticed the teenager’s staring.

“Arthur,” Dutch started, putting the bottle down, “If you don’t want us to drink-“

“It’s fine.” He replied, not particularly phased, “Can I have one?”

They were both quite startled by the question, they knew Arthur had been a little cautious around alcohol and especially those who took it, so this request was the last thing they had expected.

“I uh…sure. Here.” Dutch readily reached into the crate, earning a sharp look from Hosea.

“Dutch.” He warned before turning to Arthur, “Son, are you sure? You don’t have to just because we are.”

“I’m sure.” Arthur said, just as bluntly as before, a curious look about him, “It’s my birthday, ain’t it?”

“Well, yes…but that doesn’t mean you’re old enough-“

“Oh, stop fussing Hosea, let the boy have a drink if he wants to, he ain’t gonna get drunk on one beer.” Dutch sarcastically interjected, which was followed by a nod from Arthur.

Hosea sighed, it looked like he was outnumbered yet again.

“Fine, but just one.”

As Arthur took the bottle and held it up to his lips, he couldn’t help but grimace as the cold, bitter liquid slid down his throat, leaving a burning sensation in his stomach. Dutch and Hosea chuckled at the screwed-up face he was making as he swallowed it down.

“How can old men _like_ this stuff? It tastes awful.”

“You get used to it.” Hosea replied, taking a few gulps himself.

“Excuse me, but did you just call us _old_?” Dutch asked, pretending to be offended.

“Well uh…you ain’t exactly young.”

“I’ll have you know; I am in the prime of my life. Hosea, are you hearing this?”

The older man only hummed in agreement, trying his best to hold back a laugh. In truth, he was absolutely ecstatic, Arthur’s personality was really starting to shine through these past few days, and apparently he was quite the wise cracker.

“Mr.Morgan, are you _sassing_ me right now?” Dutch continued, trying to feign anger, only to be betrayed by the amusement in his voice.

“If I was sassing, you’d still be in the prime of your life.”

Arthur was getting bolder by the second, and Dutch was loving the fire that was starting to spark in this once incredibly timid boy.

“Well then, guess you and I can discuss the prime of life with Mr. Miller tomorrow.”

“Wait, what-?”

“Been a while since our last reading session,” Dutch said with an air of smugness about him.

“Hosea?”

The older man merely shook his head as Arthur desperately looked to him for help, “Sorry but he’s right, we need to start your lessons again. Now off to bed with you, it’ll be an early start tomorrow.”

Arthur didn’t dare argue with Hosea, and reluctantly bid them goodnight before heading to his tent, smiling all the way there. His expression dropped when he reached his cot as he noticed what was waiting for him.

He could feel his heart swell up as he looked at his father’s hat and mother’s picture, distant memories fading in and out of his head, it was starting to drive him nuts.

The young boy eyed the journal and bundle of pencils sitting on the table next to his bed. He wondered…

He had heard that it was healthy for the mind to write things down and get your thoughts on paper, it was supposed to be a form of venting. Arthur didn’t really believe in all that crap, plus there was the fact that he couldn’t write properly yet…

But…there was something he _could_ do.

He quickly grabbed and lit a lantern, putting it down on the ground next to the hat and picture before settling himself down with the journal and freshly sharpened pencil. It felt so light in his hand, he hadn’t really used proper gear like this before, it made him almost nervous.

However, he took a breath and let himself calm down before taking the pencil to paper with rough but intricate lines, finely detailing such elements as the texture of the leather and the small rope that spiralled around the hat to the fine lines of hair that cascaded down his mother’s face.

He let out a sigh of relief when it was done, a huge weight being lifted off his shoulders as he examined his sketches.

Wasn’t much of a tribute but it would have to do.

Though Arthur couldn’t write properly yet, he managed to write down three simple letters next to each drawing, finally letting his parents rest for good.

_‘R.I.P._ †’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's the end! Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed, they meant the world to me. :')
> 
> Let me know what y'all thought and if there's any ideas you'd like to see for any future one-shots or short stories. 
> 
> Thanks again!


End file.
